Le Pianiste: Parisian Music Journalism and the Politics of the Piano, 1833–35

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This work is made publicly available by the City University of New York (CUNY). Contact: [email protected] LE PIANISTE: PARISIAN MUSIC JOURNALISM AND THE POLITICS OF THE PIANO, 1833–35

SHAENA B. WEITZ

A dissertation submitted to the Graduate Faculty in Music in partial fulfillment of the requirements for the degree of Doctor of Philosophy, The City University of New York Graduate Center

2016 ii

LE PIANISTE: PARISIAN MUSIC JOURNALISM AND THE POLITICS OF THE PIANO, 1833–35

SHAENA B. WEITZ

This manuscript has been read and accepted for the Graduate Faculty in Musicology to satisfy the dissertation requirement for the degree of Doctor of Philosophy

Janette Tilley

______Date Chair of Examining Committee

Norman Carey

______Date Executive Officer

Anne Stone

Richard Kramer

Dana Gooley

Supervisory Committee

THE CITY UNIVERSITY OF NEW YORK iv

Abstract

LE PIANISTE: PARISIAN MUSIC JOURNALISM AND THE POLITICS OF THE PIANO,

1833–35

Shaena B. Weitz

Advisor: Anne Stone

This dissertation examines the French music journal entitled Le Pianiste, published in

Paris from 1833 to 1835. Through an analysis of the journal’s contents, it reconsiders the nature of music journalism and musical life in Paris at the time it was in print, focusing in particular on canon formation and the power of the press. Le Pianiste’s remarkably detailed descriptions and analysis of the French music world challenge long-held perceptions of the era about taste and reception history, yet it remains an unstudied document. While past work on the music press has focused on criticism and reception, this project probes the very nature of music journalism itself as a vehicle for power, influence, and money and aims to elucidate the complex relationship between composer, publisher, and critic, who in the case of Le Pianiste’s writers, were one in the same. v

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

So much of the economy of research is based on help, and acknowledging the profound support that one has received inevitably leads to rumination on one’s own shortcomings. It is, after all, the people that offer advice and encouragement in times of distress that generally mean the most.

First, I would like to thank two departed mentors: Adrienne Fried Bloch and Ora Frishberg Saloman. Adrienne tried to make an Americanist out of me, but I learned a lot from her about research and musicology in my early days as a doctoral student. Ora Saloman, my first advisor, showed excitement in my research when I was unsure, and her intensity for life was impressive.

Thanks are due to Anne Stone, for “adopting” me when Ora died, and for guiding me through the challenging middle and late stages of my dissertation research. We accomplished a lot together.

Thank you to my committee: Janette Tilley, who served as an enthusiastic chair and whose correspondence was always swift; Dana Gooley, whose enthusiasm and support flatters me, and whose feedback I cherish. Special thanks are due to Richard Kramer, my first reader, whose keen eye and delicate thoughts always impress me and inspire me to do more.

Thanks to Allan Atlas, whose legendary no-nonsense advice has proved invaluable to me.

Thanks to those senior scholars who have offered advice on my work: Dana Gooley, Katharine Ellis, William Weber, Kenneth Hamilton, Rohan Stewart-McDonald, John Graziano, and many others.

Thanks are also due to CUNY for supporting my research with a significant dissertation grant and research scholarships. Thank you to the libraries that helped in my research, especially the Bibliothèque nationale de France and the Archives nationales, but also to the New York Public Library, the Library of Congress, and the British Library.

And of course, I thank my parents Brian and Katherine, my brother Evan, and my husband Maayan, for being there for me in ways that only family can. vi

TABLE OF CONTENTS

Introduction ...... 1

Le Pianiste’s Authors and Administration ...... 6

Le Pianiste’s Goals ...... 12

Circulation and Subscribers ...... 16

Le Pianiste’s Closure...... 18

Chapter 1: The Business of the Press ...... 28

The Press and the Government ...... 32

Turning a Profit (Or not) ...... 39

Consequences for Bad Behavior ...... 43

Chapter 2: Perruques and Fathers: Le Pianiste’s Early History of the Piano ...... 63

Background and Context ...... 64

Adam and the Nationalistic Argument ...... 67

Le Pianiste and the Past ...... 71

The “Fathers of Piano”

Muzio Clementi ...... 78

Johann-Baptiste Cramer ...... 81

Daniel Steibelt ...... 83

Jan Ladislav Dussek ...... 87

The “New German” Tradition — Hummel and Beethoven ...... 95

Conclusion ...... 106 vii

Chapter 3: Music “for the Eyes”: On Virtuosity and the 1820s ...... 109

Ignaz Moscheles’s Parisian Debut ...... 112

Carl Czerny, Variety, and Speed ...... 117

Johann-Peter Pixis, Henri Bertini, and Resistance ...... 123

Ferdinand Hérold ...... 131

Frédéric Kalkbrenner ...... 134

Conclusion ...... 142

Chapter 4: “Talent is so young these days”: New Music and the Romantic Generation .... 145

Frédéric Chopin ...... 147

Franz Liszt ...... 161

Ferdinand Hiller ...... 171

Henri Herz ...... 178

First encounters with the music of Schubert, Mendelssohn, and Schumann ...... 186

Conclusion ...... 194

Appendices

Appendix 1: Concert Reviews in Le Pianiste ...... 197

Appendix 2: Chaulieu work list by opus ...... 209

Bibliography ...... 218 viii

List of Tables Introduction:

Table I-1: Borrowed contributions of identified origin...... 10

Table I-2: Borrowed contributions of unknown origin ...... 10

Table I-3: Letters to the editor ...... 11

Table I-4: Comparison of yearly subscription price of Le Pianiste and its competitors ...... 15

Chapter 2:

Table 2.1: “Chronologie des Pianistes” from Le Pianiste an 1 (20 November 1833), 1–2...... 74

Table 2.2: “Première Supplément à la Chronologie des Pianistes-Compositeurs” from Le Pianiste an 1, (20 January 1834), 33...... 78

List of Figures

Introduction:

Figure I-1: Timeline of Parisian music journals, 1827–1836 ...... 3

Figure I-2: Only known portrait of Chaulieu, from Le Pianiste an 2/24...... 22

List of Examples Chapter 2:

Example 2.1: Opening motive of Dussek op. 35, no. 3, mm 1–11 (Paris: Farrenc, 1870). “After a passion: jealousy” (Le Pianiste an 1, 147)...... 91

Example 2.2: Cadence of Trio into the return of the Minuet. Dussek “Le Retour à Paris,” third movement. “Comforting hope” to “all the pain of the present and the doubt of the future.” “The cry of the lost soul, or the sublime as we understand it” (Le Pianiste an 1, 149–150)...... 93 ix

Chapter 3:

Example 3.1: Reductions of opening measures for five pieces in Czerny’s Étude de la vélocité (Leipzig: Edition Peters, n.d.). “[It] is nothing but a method for roulades, a box for ornaments, arriving rather late, because thank God, the roulade is falling out of favor” (Le Pianiste an 1, 23)...... 119

Example 3.2: Czerny’s Variations on Le Serment, piano four hands, third variation (Paris: E. Troupenas, n.d.). “None of the torrents of notes, none of the banal phrases that one can so often reproach in this writer” (Le Pianiste an 1, 157)...... 122

Example 3.3: Kalkbrenner’s Variations on a theme from Norma (op. 122), end of third variation (Paris: Bernard Latte, 1834). “Brusque modulation in the style we thought he had abandoned [final three measures]” (Le Pianiste an 1, 90)...... 137

Example 3.4: Opening motive of Kalkbrenner’s Second Concerto, mvmt. III (Paris: Prillipp, n.d.). “How we paint Kalkbrenner” (Le Pianiste an 1, 5)...... 140

Chapter 4:

Example 4.1: Chopin Études, op. 10 no. 5, mm. 3-4, with Chaulieu’s suggestion in lowest staff. Example G in Le Pianiste supplement to an 1/1, n.p...... 154

Example 4.2: Return to G at the end of Chopin’s op. 15 No. 3 (mm. 4–6 on this line). French first edition (Paris: Schlesinger, 1833) from Chopin’s First Editions Online. Note the error in the penultimate chord...... 157

Example 4.3: Opening of Franz Liszt, Harmonies poétiques et religieuses (Leipzig: Hofmeister, 1835)...... 170

Example 4.4: Opening étude in the sixth book of Hiller’s Grand études op. 15 (Paris: J. Delahante, 1834). “Everything there is beautiful, useful, and difficult” (Le Pianiste an 1, 156)...... 177

Example 4.5: Variation 4 excerpt from Herz, Le Crociato (Paris: Lemoine, 1825). “Perfect” (Le Pianiste an 1, 34)...... 183 x

Example 4.6: Le Pianiste’s reduction of the beginning of the third variation of Schubert’s Variations on a French song (for piano four hands, op. 10; D 624). Example Q in Le Pianiste supplement to an 1/6, n.p...... 188

Example 4.7: Schumann op. 5 Impromptus, version 1 (1833), mm. 17–20 (Leipzig: Breitkopf und Härtel, 1885). Two octave spread...... 192

Example 4.8: Schumann op. 5 Impromptus, version 1 (1833), fourth impromptu, mm 9–10 (Leipzig: Breitkopf und Härtel, 1885). Confusing voice crossing...... 192

Example 4.9: Schumann op. 5 Impromptus version 1 (1833), eighth impromptu, mm. 12–13 (Leipzig: Breitkopf und Härtel, 1885). “New and agreeable modulation,” (Le Pianiste an 1, 89)...... 193

Example 4.10: Schumann op. 5 Impromptus version 1 (1833), sixth impromptu, m.1. (Leipzig: Breitkopf und Härtel, 1885). “Bizarre timbre with no variety,” (Le Pianiste an 1, 89)...... 194 1

INTRODUCTION

This dissertation is a study of French musical life, music journalism, and pianism in the first three decades of the nineteenth century, as seen through the lens of the music journal Le

Pianiste (1833–35). It may seem counterintuitive to base an analysis of the music press and pianism on a journal that ran for only two years in the mid-1830s. It is true that Le Pianiste was short-lived, and it is also true that like all journalistic writing, it is full of gossip, incomplete thoughts, musings, and opinion. Most studies of the music press have focused on journals with longer print runs, and their longevity has been seen as a testament to their quality or to their mass appeal. This sort of thinking, however, reflects modern ideas about the press more than the reality of the age. It was more common for journals to open and close in a short period of time, and it was also common to lose money on these endeavors. Some owners chose to keep their journals open despite a loss of income, and a journal’s longevity might only reflect the owner’s unwillingness to let the enterprise go.

The significance of any content in Le Pianiste has been further obfuscated by the misattribution of the identity of its authors. Without the knowledge of who was behind the writing, the ideas found therein, lacking context, have little meaning. I present, first, a new attribution for Le Pianiste’s authors, which provides an entry point into reading this journal in a meaningful way, and sheds new light on the striking point of view found in the journal. This discovery shows that Le Pianiste was not written by an ad-hoc group of contributors, like some of its competitors. Instead, Le Pianiste was written by just two people: professional,

Conservatoire-trained pianists with successful musical careers, Henry Lemoine (1786–1854) and 2

Charles Chaulieu (1788–1849). These two people were lifelong friends and were schooled together under the same piano teacher, Louis Adam. Instead of reading the journal as a chronicle of time, with this knowledge, Le Pianiste can be read as a text, as a declaration of a sect, as a coterie journal of piano friends who grew up together in France and studied piano together at the

Paris Conservatoire. The authors were two members of a larger group who had been, at one time, the new promising generation of French pianists, the fruit of France’s efforts to create musicians for the glory of the state. Like most of their generation, these men now bear a footnote in history, however, they were centrally involved in French music-making in the 1810s, 1820s, and 1830s.

The story of their lives would not be interesting, perhaps, if it weren’t for the quality of the writing in Le Pianiste, which their contemporary François-Joseph Fétis called “ingenious.”1

Le Pianiste is full of pithy and enlightening details about the world of its authors. Consider for instance, these descriptions of people’s piano playing: Chopin’s was called “a coquette and capricious offhandedness,” Liszt was said to perform with “paroxysms of exaltation,” and

Kalkbrenner’s playing was described as “an elegant flirtation.”2

But more than that, Le Pianiste upsets many common assumptions about music in Paris in the early nineteenth century. It sets into relief the tensions of a rapidly changing society, such as those between amateur and professional, between high and low art, between the new and old generations, and between French ways of life and the influx of foreign habits brought by recent immigrants. This work focuses on several interrelated themes brought about by the writing in Le

1 François-Joseph Fétis, “Chaulieu, Charles,” Biographie universelle des musiciens et bibliographie générale de la musique (Brussels, 1835+). 2 “[...] la désinvolture coquette et capricieuse de Chopin [...]” Le Pianiste an 2, 66; “[...] paroxysmes de son exaltation [...]” Le Pianiste an 2, 95; and “[...] une sorte d’élégante coquetterie [...]” Le Pianiste an 1, 5. Each year of Le Pianiste was continuously paginated, and my citations will therefore only mention the year and page number. Translations, unless otherwise noted, are my own. 3

Pianiste: canon formation, salon music and culture, performance practice, the decline of patronage, and the power of the press.

______

In 1827, Francois-Joseph Fétis began Revue musicale, his erudite and philosophical music journal. It was not the first French journal devoted to music, as is sometimes assumed, but earlier attempts did not succeed in making music journalism a permanent feature of French life.3

Instead, earlier French music journals all closed with nothing to take their place. Fétis’s journal is the first to be considered “successful” in France; it ran for eight years before merging with another journal that would run for nearly 50 years. Moreover, the Revue musicale helped set the tone and format for French music journalism during its unprecedented expansion in the mid-1830s, when specialist music journalism became firmly established in Paris.

In 1833, Fétis, his reputation scarred by a recent scandal involving his librarian job at the

Conservatoire, accepted a post as director of the Conservatoire du Bruxelles.4 He announced that despite his absence from Paris, his journal would continue to run. The journal’s daily management would be taken over by his son, Édouard, and Fétis père would continue to write the majority of the articles. But soon after this announcement new rival music journals began to appear. In October of 1833, Franz Stoepel opened Le Dilettante. In November, Lemoine began printing Le Pianiste. In December, both Le Ménéstrel and La Romance opened, and in January

1834 so did La Gazette musicale. A country that had had only one music journal at a time for decades gained five new music journals over the course of the winter of 1833-34, for a total of

3 See for instance, Peter Mondelli, “The Sociability of History in French Grand Opera: A Historical Materialist Perspective,”19th-Century Music, Vol. 37, No. 1 (Summer 2013), 48. Earlier French music journals include Les Tablettes do Polymnie (1810–1811) and La Correspondance des amateurs musiciens (1802–1805). 4 For more information, see François Lesure, “L’affaire Fétis,” Revue Belge de Musicologie 28 (1974–76): 214–221. Fétis was removed as librarian in 1831 for failure to be present at work and on suspicion of stealing books. 4 six (See Figure 1). Of these, only the Revue musicale and the Gazette musicale (which merged together to become the Revue et Gazette musicale in 1835) have been the focus of any scholarly inquiry.5

Fétis certainly led the way toward and influenced this rapid expansion of music journals in Paris in the mid-1830s, something Peter Bloom has called a “revolution.”6 However, had Fétis and his Revue musicale not existed, a similar revolution would have likely occurred.7 The sudden proliferation of music journals in the mid-1830s can be understood as a part of a broader increase in all journalistic activities — the result of changes in political life. The July Revolution of 1830 was heavily influenced, if not outrightly caused, by the propaganda of journalists who denounced restrictions on their work, and one of the first decrees of the new regime granted greater freedom to the press. Le Pianiste was born in this environment when the press was seen as a way to mold and galvanize public opinion.8 However, the journal’s high quality and singular vision begins with the nature of its authorship and administration.

5 See for instance, Peter Bloom, “François-Joseph Fétis and the Revue Musicale (1827–1835)” (Unpublished Ph.D. dissertation, University of Pennsylvania, 1972), and Katharine Ellis, Music Criticism in Nineteenth-Century France: ‘La Revue et Gazette musicale de Paris,’ 1834–80 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1995). 6 Bloom, “François-Joseph Fétis and the Revue Musicale (1827–1835),” 26. 7 Peter Bloom, “A Review of Fétis’s Revue musicale,” Music in Paris in the Eighteen-Thirties / La Musique à Paris dans les années mil huit cent trente, ed. Peter Bloom (New York, Pendragon Press, 1987), 55. 8 Besides the specialist press, on which this work is focused, it should be mentioned that there were also music articles written in the daily papers. Papers such as the Journal des débats, L’Impartial, Le Constitutionnel, and many others featured musical articles and feuilletons, an article separated at the bottom of the page. Except for studies of a few prolific critics like Berlioz, Castil-Blaze, or Joseph d’Ortigue, there is little musical scholarship on this sort of music writing. Le Pianiste claimed that the presence of it and other specialist journals put pressure on daily papers to include more musical content. 5 6

Le Pianiste’s Authors and Administration

Le Pianiste was written by just two people: Henry Lemoine, a music publisher, composer, and pianist, and Charles Chaulieu, a composer and pianist. A third man, Jules Delacour, served as an administrator and printer. Le Pianiste was organized as a subsidiary of Henry Lemoine’s music publishing business, and was, in fact, the first journal of this type among music publishers in Paris.9 The idea for a music publishing house journal was not new in Europe: Leipzig’s

Allgemeine musikalische Zeitung had been in business since 1798 as a part of the music publishing firm of Breitkopf & Härtel, but no one in Paris had endeavored to copy this model until Le Pianiste. Another French publishing house journal, the Gazette musicale, began two months after Le Pianiste in January 1834; it was run by the publisher Maurice Schlesinger.10 The other journals that proliferated while Le Pianiste was in print were not associated with a music publisher.

The fact that Henry Lemoine was the director and owner of Le Pianiste is never mentioned outright in the journal. However, the administrative office for Le Pianiste was located at Lemoine’s publishing business where subscribers were instructed to send subscriptions and

9 Ellis has suggested that Le Ménéstrel was an early example of a publishing house journal, but Le Ménéstrel was not a publishing house journal in 1833, it only became associated with the publishers Heugel and Meissonnier in 1839. At its start, Le Ménéstrel was run by Joseph-Hippolyte l’Henry as the sole proprietor. The first legal declaration in the Archives nationales shows Henry as the sole proprietor, F/18/381; For more information on the Heugel and Meissonnier takeover, see Anik Devriès, Dictionnaire des éditeurs de musique français vol 2: de 1820 à 1914 (Geneva: Minkoff, 1988), 219. 10 See Katharine Ellis, Music Criticism in Nineteenth-Century France: ‘La Revue et Gazette musicale de Paris,’ 1834–80 for more on the Gazette musicale. 7 letters to the editor.11 Lemoine’s publishing house was also responsible for printing the musical examples that accompanied the first year of issues.12

Charles Chaulieu, the other main contributor to Le Pianiste, was Lemoine’s boyhood friend and sometimes business partner. In a passing note in the journal he is described as its treasurer.13 Chaulieu was the only person to clearly sign his name to articles in Le Pianiste, which has caused his role in the journal to be exaggerated in the secondary literature. The source for this idea is the anonymous three-paragraph preface to the 1972 Minkoff reprint of Le

Pianiste, which states “it is evident” that Chaulieu was the owner because he was the only one to sign his name.14 This reasoning is faulty: signing an article was an act of self-publicity for the author, not a claim to the ownership of a journal. Berlioz, for instance, signed his name on his articles frequently, but he never owned a journal.15

11 Le Pianiste, No. 1, title page, Nov 1833, “On s’abonne, A PARIS, AU BUREAU CENTRAL, chez M. H. LEMOINE, éditeur de Musique, rue de l’Echelle, no 9, où l’on doit adresser, port franc, les demandes, rèclamations et observations [...]” See also Notice version beginning 5 Nov 1834 (an 2) header, “Les Bureaux de la direction et de l’abonnement sont rue de l’Echelle, 9, à Paris. Une boite placée extérieurement est destinée à recevoir la correspondance.” 12 See Bibliographie de la France, 1834, 118. 13 Le Pianiste an 1, 68. Conversation of a person addressing the director of Le Pianiste (Lemoine) “Vous qui avez pour caissier de votre Journal l’auteur d’une bonne méthode.” (l’Indispensable by Chaulieu). 14 Anonymous preface to Minkoff reprint of Le Pianiste (1972): “[...] il est évident que le principal responsable du premier journal consacré en France au piano est un personnage qui n’a laissé qu’une place très modeste dans l’histoire de la musique,[...] Chaulieu.” This has been repeated in RIPM’s introduction to their index of Le Pianiste, Ellis, and now can be found in most library catalogues. Preface to Le Pianiste (reprint, Geneva: Minkoff, 1972), Ellis, Music Criticism in Nineteenth-Century France, 47, and Introduction to Doris Pyee, Le Pianiste 1833–1835, Répértoire internationale de la presse musicale (Baltimore: NISC, 2004). 15 The author of the Minkoff preface also uses the fact that an article in a rival paper declared that “Le Pianiste is a journal of Chaulieu.” The claim was made out of desperation, as Le Pianiste had been criticizing the author, Joseph Mainzer, for his understanding of fundamentals of music theory. Mainzer demanded to know who was insulting him, and his request went unanswered, so he made his own guess. Le Pianiste immediately printed a response to Mainzer attesting that his claim was ridiculous, and arguing that believing Chaulieu was the owner was “not strong logic.” ( “[...] il ne fait pas preuve d’une forte logique en disant que le Pianiste est le journal de M. Chaulieu [...]”) Le Pianiste likened the claim to the justification that Gazette musicale and Le Rénovateur were Mainzer’s journals (they were not) because Mainzer was a recurring contributor to them both. In any case, there is sufficient evidence that shows that Lemoine was the owner. See anonymous preface to Minkoff reprint of Le Pianiste. For the discussion between Le Pianiste and Mainzer, see Le Pianiste an 2, 140–142 and 153–154; and Gazette musicale (26 July 1835), 249–250. 8

Lemoine employed a lithographer, bookseller, and printer, Jules Delacour (b. 2 July 1798) who served as the gérant (the person legally responsible for the journal’s content) and lithographer for Le Pianiste. On the last page of every issue, he signed his name “J. Delacour,” and beginning in the fourth issue he was listed as “one of the editors.”16 Fétis has misidentified the man who signs “J. Delacour, gérant” in Le Pianiste as Vincent-Conrad-Felix Delacour

(1808–1840), a professional harpist and a burgeoning composer by the end of his short life.17 A different person named Jules Delacour can be positively identified as the gérant in both the

French National Archives and the Bibliographie de la France as a bookseller, printer, and

16 Le Pianiste an 1, 40 [sic] (63). 17 Fétis, Biographie Universelle, 455; Ellis, Music Criticism, see 47 and appendix 2, 256. As to why Fétis may have misidentified Vincent Delacour’s accomplishments, the first edition of his Biographie Universelle does not include any article on Vincent Delacour. Presumably if it had, Lemoine or Delacour or someone would have written to inform him of the error. The attribution only appears in the second edition of 1866, and therefore is far removed from the time and postdates the deaths of anyone involved. Fétis also misidentifies the first year Le Pianiste appeared as 1834, which indicates he was working from memory, and not consulting any copy of the journal. Further, Fétis wasVincent Delacour’s teacher for counterpoint and fugue in 1826, as he mentions in his Biographie; therefore, the name “Delacour” might have immediately conjured up Vincent Delacour in Fétis’s mind. However, the point of having a gérant, as outlined in the law of the 18 July 1828 law, was to name the party responsible for the journal in case of a dispute. A pseudonym (such as a J when there was no J in Vincent’s name) would not be appropriate for a gérant. For more information on gérants, see Irene Collins, “The Government and the Press in France during the Reign of Louis-Philippe,” English Historical Review 69 (1954), 274–175. 9 lithographer.18 His role in Le Pianiste was legal and administrative, and there is no evidence that he wrote any articles.19

Le Pianiste appears on the surface to have had many contributors because of the prevalence of articles signed by a variety of initials. This has been a source of confusion: for instance, it led RIPM (Répértoire internationale de la presse musicale/Retrospective Index to

Music Periodicals) to use articles signed by “Ed. M” to lay claim to Le Pianiste’s views on

Berlioz, and for the anonymous preface to the Minkoff reprint to state that “Ed. M” is a contributor.20 However, most of these articles signed by initials, including “Ed. M,” were borrowed from other journals, which was a common practice of the time. For reference, Table 1 shows all borrowed articles with known sources, Table 2 shows all borrowed articles with unknown sources, and Table 3 shows letters to the editor.

18 see Archives nationales F/18/1753, and also V3 E/N 651, record 27 for birthdate. See Bibliographie de la France, 1834, 118, description of Le Pianiste: “Trois cahiers in-4o, ensemble de 6 flles, plus 3 portraits et 6 p. de musique. Imp. de Delacour, à Meudon. —A Paris, chez Lemoine, rue de l’Echelle, n. 9.” Jules Delacour printed the text and created the lithographs that came with most issues. A few of the lithographs are signed by another lithographer, Benard, but it is unclear why Delacour did not supply those. Delacour held the required licenses for printing., and he took care of the legal printing requirements for the journal, such as making declarations to the dépôt légale. Delacour’s brevets may be seen at the French National Archives under F/18/1753. Delacour obtained his brevet de librarie (bookselling license) on 15 November 1831 and his brevet de lithographie (lithography license) on 5 July 1831 (registered in Vaugirard). He received his third license, a brevet de l’imprimerie (printing license) on 26 November 1832 (Bibliographie de la France no. 52 (1832), p. 750; and Archives nationales F/18/1753). The printing license was registered in Meudon because he was not able to obtain a license in Vaugirard, but Delacour eventually transferred it to Vaugirard in 1838 (Bibliographie de la France, 15 September 1838, p. 4). He sold his license (then registered in Vaugirard) to his uncle Laurent-Theodore Delacour on 20 April 1844 (Bibliographie de la France 1844, p. 307). In addition, monthly letters from the Sécretariat de la Préfecture to the Ministère de l’Intérieur report the declarations Delacour made to him about printing activities (see F/18/153 for Delacour and Le Pianiste). Also, F/18(IX)/42 contains the ledger books of printing activities where Delacour and Le Pianiste can be found. 19 Delacour appears to have been an amateur cellist, and possibly a one-time playwright, which may explain his interest in being involved with an artistic publication like Le Pianiste. He had had a relationship with Lemoine prior to Le Pianiste, shown by the fact that he printed Lemoine’s catalog lists. Delacour seems to have performed in a concert as a cellist on 21 Feb 1835 (Le Pianiste an 2, 66 and 68) as a benefit for his area of Paris, and a “Delacour” is listed as an amateur member of the Société Académique des enfans d’Apollon as a cellist in 1840 (Chaulieu was a professional member). See Maurice Decourcelle, La Société Académique des enfants d’Apollon: 1741–1880 (Paris, 1881), 18. There is a Jules Delacour who wrote a one-act comedy, Les Mariages d’argent, in 1827. 20 Introduction to Doris Pyee, Le Pianiste 1833–1835 (RIPM 2004) and Minkoff reprint. 10

Table I-1: Borrowed contributions of identified origin.

Signature Article Original Source Le Pianiste citation

“K.” Les Musiciens à Paris L’Impartial an 1, 56+

“K.” Le Clavecin de Marie-Antoinette L’Impartial an 1, 132–135.

Léon Masson à Liszt La Romance an 1, 141.

“Ed. M.” [Edouard Monnais] Le Courrier français an 2, 36–38.

“G. Olivier (de la Marche)” État actuel de la musique... Moniteur du Commerce an 2, 43–46.

“A. Jal” [Auguste Jal] Deux portraits L’Europe littéraire21 an 2, 75–77 and 90.

Henry Trianon Neron mélomane La Romance an 2, 92.

Adolphe Adam Un Musicien il y a cent ans L’Impartial an 2, 171+.

Romagnesi Bellini L’Abeille musicale an 2, 183.

Table I-2: Borrowed contributions of unknown origin.22

Signature Article Le Pianiste citation

“J. D.”23 M. Masson de Puitneuf et M. Musard an 2, 4–5.

Jules Lardin Nécrologie [Jean-Baptiste Bouffet] an 2, p. 63.

“V”24 concert reviews an 2, 64–65.

Bouilly eulogy read at Enfans d’Apollon meeting for Guénin, père an 2, 83–84.

“R.” La Perruque de Viguerie an 2, 97–98.

“Z” Lettres sur l’histoire de la musique an 2, 9+.

21 The article might also have been found in L’Impartial. 22 Without being able to identify the source, it is possible that these were commissioned articles. However, the two eulogies appear to be transcripts of speeches, the “Lettres sur l’histoire de la musique” is a long multi-part article placed under the heading “Archives musicales” and addressed to “Madame” which was not Le Pianiste’s intended readership. The other three articles (by “J.D.”, “V”, and “R.”) might have been commissioned but if they were, they are short articles and these authors only appear once in Le Pianiste, which shows that these authors had little influence, if any, on the overall content of the journal. 23 This person might be Jules Delacour, but the author seems too knowledgeable about insider music information for it to have been him. It is possible he wrote this after a discussion, perhaps with Lemoine or Chaulieu, but there are plenty of other “J.D.’s” in Paris that might have been the author, such as Jules Dejazet, Jacques Duvernoy, or Joseph Daussoigne, if we accept that the initials are real. 24 This article, a concert review, may have been an assignment given to another person, but even if it was, it is a one- off event. 11

Table I-3: Letters to the editor.

Author Article Le Pianiste citation

Aristide Farrenc an 1, 74

“F. J.” So...... [winsky] ou Le Pianiste et le panaris an 1, 74–76.

Giorgio from Rome an 1, 144.

C[laude] Montal an 1, 160.

“Paul B...N.” an 2, 128.

“L. D.” an 1, 131.

Georgette Ducrest an 2, 164.

Mazas an 2, 193.

A. Fontaine an 2, 79–80.

The remainder of the articles in Le Pianiste are either unsigned, or signed by two names:

Chaulieu; and “L.P.”, which was Lemoine’s signature.25 Because of the relative absence of articles written by other personalities, and the identification of the administrative structure of Le

Pianiste, it is clear that Lemoine and Chaulieu wrote the vast majority of Le Pianiste, including

25 The first appearance of this signature is in the 20 Feb 1835 issue. This signature morphs from “Le P.” in a footnote (an 1, 105) to “L.P.” and stands for “le pianiste,” which was Lemoine’s nickname (and therefore a clever title for his journal). This name appears in Lemoine’s memoirs, Les Tablettes du pianiste, which uses the definite article le instead of the indefinite article, un (de + le = du). It also appears in two stories in Le Pianiste that feature a man called “le Pianiste” or “Monsieur le Pianiste.” In these stories, M. Le Pianiste is a man who works at Lemoine’s address (9, rue de l’Échelle), and holds Lemoine’s job, editor. In one story, a stranger off of the street bursts into Lemoine’s office and begins a verbal tirade against unfair practices in journalism, and errors in taste and judgement. After the speech, a man called “Le Pianiste,” who had been “listening to this outburst with an air of surprise, but calmly, and without leaving his upholstered armchair (fauteuil),” stands up and gently explains to the hapless gentleman that he had the wrong office — he was looking for Schlesinger’s office on rue Richelieu, where Gazette musicale was published, and that was guilty of all the misdeeds the stranger had mentioned. (Apparently the shared “ch” and “l” sounds in both rue Richelieu and rue de l’Echelle were enough to make a mishearing of the street names possible. “LE PIANISTE (qui a écouté cette apostrophe d’un air surpris, mais calme, et sans quitter son fauteuil).” Le Pianiste an 1, 38[sic] (62)). Realizing his mistake, the stranger blushes and says, “A thousand pardons, I subscribe [to your journal].” (“Mille pardons: je m’abonne.” Le Pianiste an 1, 39[sic] (63)). Another anecdote identifies “M. Le Pianiste” as an owner of a music journal who works with Chaulieu: In the process of explaining Le Pianiste’s stance on new pedagogical methods, one article recalled the events of a meeting of music editors (it is unclear if the meeting was fictional or real). In the recollection, one of the editors at this meeting exclaimed, “But, [...] monsieur le Pianiste, you who have the author of a fine method as the treasurer of your journal [Chaulieu], you wish to quarrel with him?” The “fine method” refers to Chaulieu’s l’Indispensable. (Le Pianiste an 1, 68. “Mais, [...] monsieur le Pianiste, vous qui avez pour caissier de votre Journal l’auteur d’une bonne méthode, vous voulez donc vous brouiller avec lui?”) 12 the unsigned articles. There is a precedent for this sort of arrangement in Parisian music journalism: Fétis wrote the majority of the Revue musicale singlehandedly but did not sign every article with his name.26

Lemoine and Chaulieu did not come together to form Le Pianiste because they were practiced writers or known journalistic personalities; rather, they formed Le Pianiste together because they were boyhood friends. They had studied piano together at the Paris Conservatoire in the first decade of the century and saw themselves as a part of a larger unified pianistic school, and the writing in Le Pianiste represents a similar, though not identical, point of view. Le

Pianiste was designed as a vehicle for Lemoine and Chaulieu’s expertise: the changing state of pianism in France that they had experienced first hand in the first three decades of the nineteenth century.

Le Pianiste’s Goals

When Lemoine and Chaulieu wrote the prospectus for Le Pianiste, Fétis’s Revue musicale was still the only music journal in circulation, and Le Pianiste’s goals were crafted in direct response to the patterns of Fétis’s journal.27 Le Pianiste was not intended to be a direct competitor to the Revue musicale; instead, its owners argued for their complementary, yet separate, musical purviews. Lemoine and Chaulieu aimed to fill what they saw as a “lacuna” left by the Revue musicale which, according to them, was totally preoccupied with the “scientific

26 Peter Bloom, “A Review of Fétis’s Revue musicale,” 57. 27 Le Pianiste, like any other journal, was required by law to publish a document stating its purpose and goals, and this document, the prospectus, tells us the owner’s intent for the publication. It also served as a public advertisement aimed to gather subscriptions. 13 aspects of this art [music] and the theatres.”28 In contrast to the Revue, Le Pianiste planned to avoid scientific or philosophical musical inquiry, and focus instead on the practical issues of piano performance. While the journal openly eschewed philosophy, this should not be confused with its being anti-intellectual: rather, instead of focusing on how music ought to be, Le Pianiste was more concerned with describing how music was.

Le Pianiste was advertised as a “totally new” genre of music journalism, one that was practical, useful, and aimed towards all sorts of musical people, from the elite to which the Revue musicale catered, to musical amateurs. Lemoine and Chaulieu believed that artists and music lovers were a part of the same public, and that writing a journal aimed at pianists of all levels was possible. Le Pianiste also promised to be a “journal of progress” and “eminently national.”29

For Lemoine and Chaulieu, progress was not only forward-looking, but it was also prescriptive in that it aimed to raise standards in pianism. In particular, Lemoine and Chaulieu wanted to encourage French pianists and focus on the music heard in France. However, foreign musicians who had come to live in France even recently were considered “French” insofar as they had been

“adopted by France.”30

Finally, the journal styled itself as a “vade mecum” for anyone interested in the piano, and it published practical information so that the readers could stay current on pianistic activities.31

To this end, the journal previewed new music and graded it on a numerical scale of difficulty.

The scale, the Musico-mètre, was more detailed than any that had come before (12 degrees of

28 Prospectus of Le Pianiste (Vaugirard: J[ules]. Delacour, 1833). Available at the Bibliothèque nationale de France, V-10877. “La Revue musicale [...] traitant particulièrement de la partie scientifique de cet art [musique] et des théâtres [...]” 29 Ibid. 30 Le Pianiste an 1, 36. 31 Prospectus of Le Pianiste. 14 difficulty as opposed to 3), and similar scales are still in use today to grade music for students.32

The prospectus explained this grading system was especially useful for amateurs, who were still learning about music, and for professors in the départements, who wouldn’t have the musical discussions of the capital available to them. The prospectus also promised that every issue of Le

Pianiste would dutifully publish a list of piano music that had been published in Paris the month prior so the journal might serve as a report of publishing activities.

Le Pianiste not only differed from Revue musicale in its tone and scope, but also in its price. The Revue musicale cost 30F a year for a subscription, and Le Pianiste only cost 7F for its first year (the price was raised to 10F and frequency increased in its second year). Comparing the price and frequency of all of Le Pianiste’s competitors shows just how unusual the format of Le

Pianiste was, and helps situate the character of its rivals. Outside of Le Pianiste, there were basically two models for music journalism: the one set by Revue musicale, expensive with eight- page-long issues, and a cheaper alternative started by Le Ménéstrel, whose issues were only four pages. The Revue musicale was published weekly and cost 30F for a yearly subscription.33 Le

Dilettante was clearly meant to be a slightly cheaper competitor in Fétis’s model; it cost 25F a year and appeared weekly.34 La Gazette musicale, likewise, copied the Revue musicale’s model; it cost 30F a year and appeared weekly.35 Le Ménéstrel and La Romance represented a different and less expensive model, they both cost 10F a year and appeared weekly, though each issue was only half as long as the more expensive model.36 Please see Table 4 for a comparison.

32 It may be that this precedent of a 12-degree scale was set by Lemoine and Chaulieu. 33 Revue musicale (Paris: 1827). None of these music journals had single issues for sale. 34 Le Dilettante: journal de musique, de littérature, de théâtres et de beaux-arts (Paris: Giraudet, 1833). 35 Gazette musicale de Paris (Paris: Lachevardière,1834). 36 Le Ménéstrel: Journal de musique (Paris: l’Henry, 1833) and La Romance: Journal de musique (Paris: 1833). 15

Le Pianiste represented an entirely different model at its start: it appeared the least often, monthly for the first year, and it was the least expensive journal at 7F a year. Its length, however, made up for its infrequency. Each issue of the first year was 16 pages long, which gave subscribers the same amount of pages for less than the cheaper model represented by Le

Ménéstrel and La Romance.37 By Le Pianiste’s second year it had conformed somewhat to other models: it raised its price to 10F a year and appeared twice monthly. Le Pianiste noted in its second year prospectus that a journal that appeared only monthly was not subject to the stamp tax, and by increasing the frequency of the issues, the price would have to rise to pay the tax.38

Lemoine must have believed, however, that the benefit of increased frequency with its ability to discuss musical happenings sooner after they occurred, was worth the increased cost of operation.

Table I-4: Comparison of yearly subscription price of Le Pianiste and its competitors.

Journal Price Frequency Length per issue Price/page Revue musicale 30F weekly 8 pages 0.072 Le Dilettante 25F weekly 8 pages 0.06 Le Pianiste 7F monthly 16 pages 0.036 Le Pianiste an 2 10F bi-monthly 8 pages 0.052 Le Ménéstrel 10F weekly 4 pages 0.048 La Romance 10F weekly 4 pages 0.048 Gazette musicale 30F weekly 8 pages 0.072

Besides its price and frequency, Le Pianiste’s model differed in other ways too. Each issue featured a lithographed portrait of a famous pianist (every other issue in the second year),

37 Two sheets in quarto. 38 Le Pianiste an 1, 178. 16 where others did not.39 Le Pianiste also offered a serialized music course for beginners in its pages. And while many other journals included a piece of sheet music in each issue, usually a song, Le Pianiste did not. Sending songs through a subscription service was not new, in fact, it should be noted that there were music “journals” whose sole purpose was to send songs or other music in the mail, such as L’Abeille musicale published from 1828 to 1839 or Le Troubadour des salons published from 1824 to 1827.40 These sorts of journals are rarely mentioned in the secondary literature because they usually had no text; however, their presence further illustrates the type of musical experience available by post. Expensive journals like the Gazette musicale often included a song in their supplement, as well.41 A journal like Le Ménéstrel was a sort of new hybrid; while its main purpose was to send around its romances, the editor used the front and back cover of the romance for musical commentary. Le Pianiste was not in the business of sending pieces of music connected with it.

Circulation and Subscribers

Le Pianiste quickly became one of the most popular music journals.42 The Archives nationales holds a report of declarations that the printer made 650 copies of Le Pianiste’s first

39 The serialized encyclopedia, the Encyclopédie pittoresque de la musique, also featured such portraits. The date for this work is given as 1835 in library catalogs, but it was a serialized work sent in installments in the mail. The first shipment was dated 16 November 1833. The 1835 date is likely the date it was bound into book form. The schedule is printed in the bound copy. See Encyclopédie pittoresque de la musique (Paris: 1835). Many of Le Pianiste’s portraits were copied from other lithographers, though some were original. 40 L’Abeille musicale was published by Romagnesi; Le Troubadour published by Meissonnier. See Erik Stenstadvold, “A Bibliographical Study of Antoine Meissonnier's Periodicals for Voice and Guitar, 1811–27,” Notes Vol. 58/1 (September 2001), 24. 41 These supplements are often left out in reprintings and digital scans, unfortunately. 42 The Journal des débats said it was one of two music journals that had the most subscribers on 11 Aug 1834. “Concours du Conservatoire,” Journal des débats (11 Aug 1834), and Le Pianiste an 1, 167. The Journal des débats identified a piano journal and the price of Le Pianiste, but called it La Romance. Le Pianiste pointed out this error in its own pages. 17 three issues.43 Since subscription was not available for less than a year, and the prospectus was sent out in advance to gather up subscribers, it can be assumed that 650 is around the figure for subscribers. By comparison, Peter Bloom has suggested that the Revue musicale had, on average, about 200 subscribers.44 While no such figure for the Gazette musicale exists during the time Le

Pianiste was in print, in 1836 when it had no competitors, its records only show 600 copies printed, and in 1837, only 417 copies were printed.45

The actual number of people who read Le Pianiste and other journals is likely to be higher because of the availability of cabinets de lecture.46 These establishments were commercial lending libraries — places where a person could rent books and periodicals to read, either at home or in the store itself. This was a popular mode of reading consumption in the first half of the nineteenth century. If people could not afford to subscribe to their favorite periodicals, they could read them at a cabinet de lecture for much cheaper. A cabinet de lecture contained seating and tables at which to read, and some even offered beverages and snacks.

A list of subscribers for Le Pianiste does not exist, but some evidence remains of the journal’s circulation. We know that Berlioz, or one of his friends, read Le Pianiste, because he mentions the contents of the journal in his Memoirs.47 Marie d’Agoult, Liszt’s romantic partner, saved a clipping of Le Pianiste in her scrapbook.48 The journal was of enough interest that

43 F/18/153 Etat des déclarations faites au secretariat de la préfecture de Seine-et-Oise, par divers imprimeurs du 7 Xre [december] 1833 au 11 janvier 1834. 44 Peter Bloom, “A Review of Fétis’s ‘Revue musicale’,” 72. 45 Ellis, 268. Ellis notes around 600 subscribers for 1836, and 413 in 1837. 46 For more information, please see Harry Earl Whitmore, “The ‘Cabinet de lecture’ in France,” 1800–1850, The Library Quarterly Vol. 48, No. 1 (Jan 1987), 20–35. 47 Hector Berlioz, Mémoires, Annotated and revised translation by Ernest Newman (New York: Dover Publications, 1966), p. 204, referring to Le Pianiste an 2, 21: “HAROLD. HARO! HA A A A!!” 48 Cited in Alan Walker, Franz Liszt: The Virtuoso Years (Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press, 1987), 151, citing “Second Scrapbook of Marie d’Agoult” in the Versailles library. 18

Breitkopf & Härtel’s Parisian agent, Heinrich Probst, shipped copies to his employers in

Leipzig.49 The journal also printed many letters to the editor, though they are generally unsigned.

Letters that are signed include those by Aristide Farrenc, the publisher, and Albert Sowinsky, the pianist (both wrote to correct small errors in the journal).

Katharine Ellis has suggested that the readership for the journal was predominantly female.50 While the journal addressed “nos jeunes lectrices” or “our young female readers” a few times, there is no indication that women or girls were the only audience reading the journal.51 Le

Pianiste’s high level of discourse and known readers are enough to dispel this idea, but in addition, Le Pianiste, unlike Le Ménéstrel or Le Dilettante, did not include a section on clothing and fashions. While Le Pianiste aimed to be enjoyed by women as one part of its readership, the journal was not primarily a ladies’ music journal at all. There were other journals for fashionable music interest. Le Pianiste coveted a wide range of people with differing interests in music, and appears to have had a healthy circulation of various sorts of people, both amateur and professional, which was its goal.

Le Pianiste’s Closure

While Le Pianiste was popular, its popularity could not prevent its demise. The small and closed administration of Lemoine, Chaulieu, and Delacour made the journal uniform and expressive, but it also made it vulnerable. Le Pianiste’s final issue appeared on 20 October 1835.

It was not meant to be the last; however, illness and family affairs had caused the journal’s output

49 Breitkopf und Härtel in Paris: The Letters of their Agent Heinrich Probst between 1833 and 1840, Translation and commentary by Hans Lenneberg, Musical life in 19th-century France V (Pendragon Press, 1990), 10. Letter of 16 May 1834. 50 Ellis, Music Criticism in Nineteenth-Century France, 47 51 See for example Le Pianiste an 1, 145. 19 to be severely limited for the issues preceding the announcement, and the administration admitted to the need of a short break and announced a two-month hiatus.52 The third year of Le

Pianiste was meant to reappear in January of 1836, but it never did.53

Jules Delacour had been ill for some while; at least since August 1835. In the issue of 5

September 1835, a small note appeared, stating, “a serious and prolonged illness of the artist responsible for our lithographed portraits, still prevents us from sending one of them [a portrait] to our subscribers; however, we positively pledge to publish a portrait with each of the three remaining issues for our second year.”54 As promised, the portraits were published in the next three issues: one each of Carl Czerny, Chopin, and Chaulieu. However, despite the resumption of portraits, the situation at Le Pianiste continued to deteriorate. The last issues of the journal have little new content, and rely mainly on articles borrowed from other journals instead. Chaulieu alone was writing new articles. In the last issue, Chaulieu explained that Lemoine was also indisposed due to family commitments.55 He wrote:

This is the point where we were at the beginning of this month, when the serious and possibly prolonged illness of one of our editors, and the temporary absence of another, suddenly called away from us by family affairs, came to interfere in our deliberations and prevents us, for a moment, to decide on our final plan.56

52 Le Pianiste an 2, 188. 53 Ibid. 54 Le Pianiste an 2, 163. “Une indisposition grave et prolongée de l’artiste chargé de lithographier nos portraits, nous empêche encore aujourd’hui d’en adresser un à nos abonnés; Mais nous nous engageons positivement à publier un portrait avec chacun des trois numéros qui restent à paraître pour compléter notre 2e annnée [sic].” 55 I attribute this article to Chaulieu, because he was the only one writing new articles at that time. Delacour was the ill one and Lemoine must have been the editor that was too busy. 56 Le Pianiste an 2, 188.“Tel est le point où nous en étions au commencement de ce mois, lorsque la maladie grave et peut-être longue d'un de nos rédacteurs, et l'absence momentanée d'un autre, subitement appelé loin de nous par des affaires de famille, sont venues apporter des entraves à nos délibérations et nous empêcher, pour l'instant, d'arrêter notre plan définitif.” 20

With both Delacour and Lemoine unavailable, Chaulieu was unable to continue the venture alone. He noted that Le Pianiste would not want to take new people on, because the trio of himself, Lemoine, and Delacour were too close and had worked together too long to consider any replacement, even temporarily. He noted, “It’s in vain that we seek to replace these collaborators and friends: with them we have conceived of the plan for our publication; with them we have shared the work; with them, we have constantly travelled our careers; with them, we must and we want to continue and finish it.”57

Le Pianiste had laid out specific plans for the third year, which was scheduled to begin in

January 1836. For instance, portraits were scheduled for the next year: Jacques Herz (brother to

Henri), Ferdinand Hiller, Franz Hünten, George Osborne, Ferdinand Ries, Louis Pradher, Charles

Schunke, and Pierre Zimmerman.58 A prospectus was meant to be mailed to subscribers in early

December.59 However, other evidence suggests that the editors of Le Pianiste, and maybe their rivals, knew that this would be, or had the likelihood to be, the journal’s last issue. Notably, the last portrait to be found in Le Pianiste is that of Chaulieu himself, calm-looking with small wire spectacles, slightly wild hair, and one part of his vest unbuttoned (See Figure 2). The choice of final portrait might be interpreted to be a last bit of indulgence in a dying enterprise. This is also the only known portrait of Chaulieu.

Though the official explanation for the pause of Le Pianiste indicates only a temporary stoppage, Le Pianiste’s main rival, the Gazette musicale, believed that Le Pianiste had closed and boasted of surviving beyond it. The lead story of 1 November 1835 in the Gazette musicale

57 Ibid. “C’est en vain que nous cherchons à remplacer ces collaborateurs et amis; avec eux nous avons conçu le plan de notre publication; avec eux nous en avons partagé les travaux; avec eux, nous avons constamment parcouru la carrière; avec eux, nous devons, nous voulons la poursuivre et la finir.” 58 Le Pianiste an 2, 193. 59 I have not found evidence that this prospectus was ever printed. 21 listed all its successes of the past month, which included the death of Le Pianiste, the “last small journal that still survived,” and a merger with Fétis’s Revue musicale.60 At the same time the Le

Pianiste ended, the long-running Revue et Gazette musicale de Paris was born.

In the Gazette’s view, the events occurring in October 1835 (its merger with the

Revue musicale and Le Pianiste’s closure) proved it was and had been the preeminent music journal in Paris. In fact, it was only one of two music journals left. The other, Le Ménéstrel, with each issue composed of just two pages of text and two pages of music, may not have been seen as any competition at all. The other “small journals” that sprang up in that winter of 1833–34 had all disappeared: Le Dilettante, La Romance, Le Pianiste; and Fétis’s Revue musicale was officially folding into Gazette musicale. Because of the rivalry that had formed between Le

Pianiste and the Gazette musicale (discussed in chapter 1), the Gazette took great pleasure in connecting Le Pianiste’s failure to its own success. The Gazette musicale wrote:

At the same time that Revue musicale came to complete our efforts and our studies, the last small journal that still survived, le Pianiste, our unknown enemy, so to speak, and whose incognito anger was not the least worrying to us, has just given its last breath, the last feeble sound of a brass string breaking with a groan.61

The newly formed Revue et Gazette musicale continued with little competition until the founding of La France musicale in 1837.

60 Gazette musicale an 2/44 (1 Nov 1833), 353. “[...] le dernier petit journal qui survécût [sic] encore.” 61 Ibid., “En même temps que la Revue musicale venait ainsi compléter nos efforts et nos études, le dernier petit journal qui survécût [sic] encore, le Pianiste, notre ennemi inconnu, pour ainsi dire, et dont la colère incognito était peu inquiétante pour nous, vient de rendre son dernier soupir, dernier et faible son d’une corde de laiton qui se brise en gémissant.” 22

Figure I-2: Only known portrait of Chaulieu, from Le Pianiste an 2/24.

Seen through the lens of Parisian music journalism’s brief and sudden proliferation and subsequent decay in the mid 1830s, the end of Le Pianiste also signals the end of an era.62 Not

62 Le Dilettante almost immediately folded into the Gazette, making five rival journals except for a few days when Le Dilettante and the Gazette coexisted. 23 only did most of these “small journals” not survive, but also press laws became more restrictive in September 1835 (discussed in chapter 1) and in 1836 Émile de Girardin invented a new paper making technique that lowered the price of paper, leading to permanent change in French journalism.63 As Fétis notes, Le Pianiste was “naive in its style,” as it represents an attempt to cultivate an educated and music-loving public with honest, detailed descriptions and analysis of new musical works, nuanced histories of the recent past, and explanatory articles on pianists and the piano.64 It is through its singular vision and unusual detail, however, that it lays bare important issues in pianism and music journalism in ways that, as will be explained, were not recorded anywhere else. And after 1835, I would argue, this sort of small journalistic enterprise would have been no longer possible. The following is the story of Le Pianiste, but it is also the story of the Louis Adam school and the politics of French pianism in the first three and a half decades of the nineteenth century.

______

Before beginning, it is necessary to say a few words on music journalism and issues of textual analysis. While Le Pianiste was written in the 1830s, much of its value comes from the way in which it discusses and summarizes the recent past. Lemoine and Chaulieu were firsthand witnesses and participants in French musical life in the first three decades of the century, and as some of the best students of Adam, they had access to elite and closed circles of musicians. But, despite subject matter in their journal that often extends backwards in time from the 1830s, it cannot be ignored that their articles were written in the 1830s, with a contemporary audience in

63 Irene Collins, “The Government and the Press in France during the Reign of Louis-Philippe,” English Historical Review 69 (1954), 262. 64 François-Joseph Fétis, “Chaulieu, Charles,” Biographie universelle des musiciens et bibliographie générale de la musique (Brussels, 1835+). 24 mind. A part of the task in assessing this content has been to take into account the 1830s climate and its potential effects on Lemoine and Chaulieu’s recollections and explanations. When telling stories about the past, there is a natural tendency to emphasize events that turned out to be important and deemphasize those that did not. In other words, any story about the past is told in relation to the time of its presentation. In many cases, Lemoine and Chaulieu appear to be responding to musical trends or ideas that they have noticed in their present and attempting to explain something about them through a historical precedent. These instances tell us as much about the past as they do about the 1830s.

! Not only is Le Pianiste’s content influenced and possibly obscured by the issues important in the 1830s, it has the potential to be misconstrued by the expectations and biases of musicologists working today. In the scant comments about Le Pianiste in secondary literature, this is often the case. There is a tendency in evaluating criticism to look for the first glimpse of a modern idea and to credit the people who first argued for a particular point of view. Peter Bloom falls prey to this trap in his essay on Fétis’s Revue musicale, when he discusses whether Fétis could be credited with “discovering” Chopin or Berlioz, because if he could be, then Fétis’s stature would rise.65 But what might we say about the last person to argue for something? A surface glance at Le Pianiste, with its portraits and articles on Jan Ladislav Dussek and Daniel

Steibelt, might make it appear to be out of time, and it is easy to assume its authors were conservative or suspicious of modern music. But this would be an error. In evaluating criticism,

Roger Parker notes that we tend to overemphasize the ideas that are familiar to us: “Critics who argued passionately for causes now long lost, or who, worse still, castigated the occupants of our

65 Bloom, “A Review of Fétis’s Revue musicale,” 66–70. 25 current pantheon [...] need not be ‘read’ except to see where they went wrong, thus congratulating our present taste.”66 In the present work, I focus on illuminating Le Pianiste’s ideas for what they were, by positioning them in context to better understand their place in

French society. Despite the ways that Le Pianiste challenges many commonly held assumptions about French musical life at the time, Lemoine and Chaulieu were not “mad men” on the fringes of society, as a colleague recently intimated. I argue instead, that in many ways they represented something mainstream.

The medium of the press also begs for a different type of analysis than does a book. A book, by its nature is meant to be permanent; it is written out of time as much as possible. But a music journal has no such aspirations: it is written with immediacy.67 This can cause journalism to lack distillation, but on the other hand, it prevents a kind of obfuscation that can occur when events are recalled long after the fact. Ideas are often presented in the music press in raw form, incomplete, and unbridled by years of hindsight.

More importantly, however, the way the press was produced is intimately tied up in its meaning. In Chapter one, I discuss the business of the press, and show how the press’s method of manufacture influenced its content. My focus is on the press during Le Pianiste’s print run, but not only do the events of this time establish patterns that continue beyond Le Pianiste’s

66 Roger Parker, “Introduction: On Reading Critics Reading,” Reading Critics Reading: Opera and Ballet Criticism in France from the Revolution to 1848, edited by Roger Parker and Mary Ann Smart (Oxford and New York: Oxford University Press, 2001), 4. 67 Ellis suggests that because many music journals were bound, they were thought of as books in miniature. Ellis, Music Criticism in Nineteenth-Century France, 2. These journals may have been seen as valuable for posterity, but their “timeliness” cannot be erased by the fact that they may have been saved. 26 existence, this sort of inquiry works toward developing a mode of thought that has too long been absent or under-recognized in reception history and something that I argue, it requires.68

The remaining chapters turn to the journal’s musical content, with the goal of analyzing and illuminating the physical and aesthetic world of Lemoine and Chaulieu. The first of these chapters examines the multivalent reasons for Le Pianiste’s presentation of its unusual canon of piano heroes, and the reasons for its apparent deemphasis on Beethoven at the time when the idea of a canon was beginning to be formed. I unravel various pressures that complicate and explain the journal’s presentation: namely a new German way of thinking and a desire to remind young people of France’s own history amid a climate of disdain for the French past.

The next chapter concerns Lemoine and Chaulieu’s own generation, one that seemingly produced few great composers or musicians. Unwittingly, Lemoine and Chaulieu suggest that their generation was entirely wrapped up in the politics of virtuosity, so much so that by the mid-1830s, even those musicians who had been opposed to virtuosity were thought to be its practitioners. Lemoine and Chaulieu lamented this influence, but also admitted that the decline of patronage left many musicians beholden to the interests of publishers, who wanted to

“speculate” on certain types of pieces for a quick profit. But it was not only the commonly understood superficial aspect of virtuosity that bothered Lemoine and Chaulieu. Rather, the real problem was that virtuosity was unoriginal: various tricks were often copied or reproduced by others in a never ending cycle of meaningless imitation.

The last chapter analyzes the music of Le Pianiste’s present, that which was written or performed by the youngest musicians at the time, such as Chopin, Liszt, and Hiller. The analysis

68 Roger Parker mentions in Reading Critics Reading that critics and journals had biases, but this idea still has not permeated most analyses of the press. 27 of the works of this generation provides, perhaps, the most accessible avenue to Le Pianiste’s aesthetic because this music remains familiar and beloved. But the journal’s view can only be understood through familiarization with the precedents and events that influenced it. Again, Le

Pianiste’s analysis is not only incredibly detailed as to provide new ways of hearing this music, but also it demonstrates new connections, ideas, and meanings that open up the formerly hidden

Parisian world of Lemoine and Chaulieu. While Le Pianiste was written by just two people, it is much more than the product of two unique and unconnected voices. The similarity of Lemoine and Chaulieu’s aesthetic makes it possible to see this journal as a representative of an entire school, and perhaps an entire generation. 28

Chapter 1: The Business of the Press

Balzac’s Illusions perdues focuses on a young aspiring author’s first forays into Parisian society. The author cannot get his books published, and he tires of his poverty, so he becomes embroiled in the world of journalism. He learns of back door deals and intrigues, and more often than not, he is forced to write articles with a particular slant to satisfy some external need: perhaps to fulfill a wish of the journal’s owner, to buoy a friend or a friend’s mistress, or to hold up an agreement to help his own mistress’s career. He lives well, but has little money to himself, as he is wined and dined by various rich people who need access to his power.1 While Balzac’s account is fictional, the situations were so plausible that Berlioz, who like Balzac’s protagonist had turned to journalism, defended himself against its accusations. “Balzac [...] has said various excellent things upon contemporary criticism,” Berlioz writes, “but in showing up the mistakes and injuries of those who carry on the business, he has not, as it seems to me, sufficiently brought out the merit of those who preserve their integrity. Nor does he appreciate their secret miseries.”2

When studying the music press, musicologists have dealt little with the mechanics of journalism that can lead to either the “mistakes and injuries” of the press, or Berlioz’s “secret miseries.”3 Many scholars have concluded that the contents of a given article only reflect the ideas of its author, and they have given scant attention to the ways in which a writer’s expressed

1 Honoré de Balzac, Illusions perdues (Paris: 1837+). 2 Hector Berlioz, Memoirs, edited and revised translation by Ernest Newman (New York: Dover, 1966), 218. 3 See for instance, Sylvia l’Écuyer, Joseph d’Ortigue: écrits sur la musique (1827–1846) (Paris: Société française de musicologie, 2003), or H. Robert Cohen, “Berlioz on the Opéra (1829–1849): A Study in Music Criticism” (Unpublished Ph.D. diss, New York University, 1973), the latter of which argued that Berlioz’s criticism would reveal his aesthetic sense. 29 opinions may have been altered by various motives or concessions, either self-imposed or stemming from some external force. In part, this is because the method of inquiry has mainly focused on criticism and not on the wider system of journalistic practices in which the criticism was written. This system of practices, or the business of the press, includes legal, business, and social structures that had the potential to alter the outcome of articles, which, in turn, changes the way in which history itself is recorded in music journals, and the way in which we interpret the contents of those journals.4

While two important scholars, Kerry Murphy and Katharine Ellis, have written about instances of corruption in music criticism, the issues they relate are described as the exception rather than the rule. For instance, Kerry Murphy has shown that some critics accepted bribes in exchange for positive reviews, but did not consider less obvious and more common ways in which musicians and critics might trade favors, such as exchanging tickets or writing complementary articles to secure future publishing contracts.5 Katharine Ellis has shown that publishing house journals, and the people who wrote for them, would be constrained by certain allegiances depending on whose music the owner published.6 But it was rare for musicians to have exclusive contracts with publishers, and the writing in a publishing house journal might reflect changing relationships between composers, critics, and publishers. In some cases, one person might fulfill all three of these roles at the same time and need to negotiate their

4 I refer to this as a system, but it is not systematic in any way. Rather it is a loose smattering of interested behavior that is not visible in the articles we can read, but which I argue was central to the act of writing these articles down. This “system” was a cultural milieu, it was a way of acting, it was a way of making money. It was also business, laws, and tricks. What relates these activities to one another is the way in which they had the potential to alter the outcome of articles. 5 Kerry Murphy, Hector Berlioz and the Development of French Music Criticism, Studies in Musicology, No. 97 (Ann Arbor, Michigan: UMI Research Press, 1988), 61–64. 6 Katharine Ellis, Music Criticism in Nineteenth-Century France: ‘La Revue et Gazette musicale de Paris,’ 1834– 1880 (Cambridge, UK: Cambridge University Press, 1995) passim, esp. 46–47. 30 contradictory demands. In this mixed musical world, any piece of journalistic writing had the potential for repercussions for the critic or the journal owner, and therefore, since a given critic would know about this potential, he would write always with a myriad of such issues in mind.

The negotiation and control of the ramifications of a piece of writing, both before and after it was written, are in essence, Berlioz’s “secret miseries.”7 The printed articles in a journal are not necessarily what the author really believed, but they are unfailingly what the owner or author wanted the public to hear.

This presents a central issue in the analysis and comprehension of the nineteenth-century press. How can we tell which ideas were heartfelt and which were fabricated? To better understand how one might know when this invisible self-imposed censorship might be happening, this chapter will look at the business of the press from the ground up and help answer a number of fundamental questions: What were the requirements to start and run a journal? Was running a journal profitable? What sorts of repercussions existed for writing positive, negative, or polemical articles? How did critics communicate with artists and how did journals communicate with each other? And what influenced the outcome of a given review? Answering these questions will help to identify areas of journalistic life that might influence the written word, and work toward creating an intellectual cosmos in which we can better interpret the contents of the nineteenth-century press.

Though it was a small and short-lived paper, Le Pianiste provides an excellent case study of the sorts of business practices involved in nineteenth-century French music journalism. First,

7 He complained, for instance, “Nor should it be forgotten how sick it [the press] makes those who have the misfortune, as I have, to be at once critic and artist, to be obliged to occupy themselves with a thousand Lilliputian inanities, and to put up with the fawning compliments, meanness, and cringing of people who have, or are likely to have, need of you.” Berlioz, Memoirs, 217–218. 31 the owners’ careers were unusually expansive: Lemoine and Chaulieu were journalists, composers, teachers, and publishers. In these capacities they wrote criticism about new music, and sometimes published the music of the artists they reviewed. They received criticism in other journals for their new pieces, and sometimes their critics might have been composers whose works had been reviewed by Le Pianiste. Lemoine and Chaulieu also sought and received contracts for their own compositions from rival publishing houses, some of which had their own music journals. These activities sometimes disagreed with one another, and Lemoine and

Chaulieu faced consequences in one part of their professional lives for actions carried out in another. Furthermore, Lemoine and Chaulieu were atypically open about the business of the music press in Le Pianiste in that they called attention to the conflicts of interest that arose between their various musical enterprises. The journal is replete with comments ranging from public exposés to subtle witticisms that lay bare the semi-secret actions that changed the way information was recorded in Le Pianiste and other contemporary journals.

This chapter will begin by discussing the laws governing music journalism in the early

1830s. While the establishment of political censorship is cited by political historians as one of the reasons that the July Revolution of 1830 occurred, how this changing legal landscape affected non-political journals has received little attention.8 Certainly, as I will show, the censorship and laws that were relaxed after the Revolution were even less strict for non-political journals, but nevertheless they did affect the content of Le Pianiste, as the authors admit in their own articles.

8 For a detailed account of the journalists’ role in the revolution, see Daniel Rader, The Journalists and the July Revolution in France: The Role of the Political Press in the Overthrow of the Bourbon Restoration 1827–1830 (The Hague: Nijhoff, 1973). 32

The second section of this chapter will be devoted to the economics of owning a music journal. Many journal owners of this period lost money on their ventures, but they recouped their losses in other indirect ways, namely as I argue, through the exertion of power and authority that would earn them favors or perks and a valuable air of prestige. This chapter will trace the flow of money, favors, and influence that made journalism worthwhile for journalists and owners, and also susceptible to corruption.

This chapter will culminate in an investigation of the professional risks and rewards of journalistic activity by analyzing the anatomy of an extended rivalry between Le Pianiste and the

Gazette musicale. The feud between these journals illustrates how journals functioned as sources of power for their owners, and demonstrates a variety of actions and reactions in the mixed world of composing, journalism, and publishing, from two men who worked in all three fields. What

Lemoine and Chaulieu wrote in Le Pianiste affected their whole professional life.

The Press and the Government

To understand French music journalism of the 1830s, it is important to know something about the press at large during this time. The Revolution of July 1830 ceded power from Charles

X and the Bourbon line to Louis-Philippe and the Orléans line, and it was started and led by journalists.9 A part of Charles X’s downfall came from his attempt to quell any opposition to his regime by creating restrictive laws on the press; Louis-Philippe, by contrast, made freedom of the press a hallmark of his reign, at least at first. Journalism flourished, and Paris had enough

9 Hugh Collingham, The July Monarchy: A Political History of France, 1830–1848 (London and New York: Longman, 1988), 169. 33 periodicals to satisfy a wealth of interests: nearly thirty daily papers were in circulation in the

1830s, along with hundreds of weekly and monthly publications.10

However, while government regulations were relaxed in the period from July 1830 to

September 1835, the press (including the music press) was still heavily monitored. Breaking the law risked penalties, fines, and imprisonment, and journals were required to register, provide declarations, and deposit every issue with various government offices. The government also monitored the activities of each journal and printer. While the responsibilities of journalism feature prominently in political histories of this time, there is remarkably little written about the legal requirements for music journalism in music scholarship.11 Yet, the system in which the press was made is a vital part of the press itself; the most fundamental business of the press begins here.12

For legal purposes, there were two classes of journals in the early July Monarchy: those subject to a cautionnement, and those that were not.13 A cautionnement, often translated as caution money, was a sum that a journal would give to the government in advance to pay any fines that arose in the printing of the journal.14 A journal could be exempted from providing caution money if it declared that it was one of “the journals or periodical writings exclusively consecrated either to physical, mathematical, or natural sciences, or to erudite work and research, like the mechanical or liberal arts, that is to say, to the arts and sciences that make up the three

10 Ibid. 11 Patrick Barbier, for instance, says there was no censorship and leaves it at that. Opera in Paris, 1800–1850: A Lively History, translated by Robert Luoma (Portland, OR: Amadeus Press, 1995), 206–207. 12 Untangling these laws also permitted the identification of Le Pianiste’s owners, and may in future help identify critics and authors of other journals. 13 The central source of information on press laws here is an 1835 compendium of legal code with annotations, Henry Celliez’s Code annoté de la presse. 14 Caution money was reduced after the July Revolution, making it easier for small journals to begin printing. Henry Celliez, Code annoté de la presse en 1835 (Paris, 1835), 87. 34 academies of science, inscription, and the fine arts in the Institut royal.”15 Le Pianiste and other music journals would fall under this exemption, which made it easier and cheaper to start a non- political paper compared to a political one. However, non-cautioned papers were still subject to other restrictions.

Prior to printing the paper, the journal’s responsible parties would have to make a legal declaration about the nature of the journal’s administration.16 A journal could be started either by a sole proprietor, a society, or an anonymous group.17 A sole proprietor was a single person, a society was two or more people, and an anonymous group functioned like a society but with additional rules for anonymity. If a journal was started by a society, then the society would also have to declare the gérant, who was the person legally responsible for the journal. A gérant was required to be male, an adult, and a subject of the king: foreigners and women wishing to open a journal would need to find a French gérant with which to partner.18

15 Celliez, 65. Loi du 18 juillet 1828, art. 3 section 2: “Les journaux ou écrits périodiques exclusivement consacrés, soit aux sciences mathématiques, physiques et naturelles, soit aux travaux et recherches d’érudition, soit aux arts mécaniques et libéraux, c’est-à-dire aux sciences, et aux arts dont s'occupèrent les trois académies des sciences, des inscriptions et des beaux-arts de l’Institut royal.” A political paper that ran only once a month was similarly exempt (Loi du 18 juillet 1828, art 3, section 1, Celliez, 65). Collingham notes that some political papers were printed at random intervals to evade the cautionnement. Collingham, The July Monarchy, 170. 16 These legal declarations are now housed in the Archives nationales; however, many are missing, like those for Le Pianiste, Le Dilettante, and the first declaration for Gazette musicale. Journals not subject to the caution would have to declare the following in advance: 1) The title of the journal and how often it would be published, 2) The name of all the owners, their addresses, and their part in the company, and 3) The name and address of the journal’s printer. (Celliez, 66. The law listed 5 items that must be mentioned in the declaration, but journals that were exempt from the cautionnement only had to provide items 1, 2, and 5). A slightly different set of information was recorded in the Bibliographie de la France: the title of the journal, the printer, and the business address of the primary owner. Lacking records in the Archives, the information in the Bibliographie provides some information about a journal’s ownership. While the identity of Le Dilettante’s owner is still unknown and the declarations are missing from the Archives, we learn from the Bibliographie that he worked at Faubourg-Poissonnière, 31, a clue that might lead to his identity. The declarations for the relevant journals in the Bibliographie are as follows: Bibliographie de la France, ou Journal général de l'imprimerie et de la librairie (Paris, 1833): Le Ménéstrel, 773 (item #6615 is #1, item #6749 is #2); La Romance, 790 (item #6751); Le Dilettante, 644 (item #5524). Bibliographie de la France (1834): Gazette musicale de Paris, 29 (item #247); Le Pianiste, 118 (item #980). 17 Celliez, 66. Loi du 18 juillet 1828, art. 8 explains some requirements for each choice. 18 These qualities were set out by the Civil Code, Art. 980. Celliez, 66, footnote. 35

A gérant did not have to be a member of a journal’s administration, however, nor was he required to be an author or contributor. Among political papers, there was a practice of using a gérant fictif, a person willing to go to jail to protect the paper’s editors. While music journals had little need for this safeguarding, it is possible that an owner would partner with a gérant who was otherwise uninvolved in the production of the paper for other practical reasons, as is the case in

Le Pianiste. The gérant’s official duties included paying any fines and depositing every issue of the journal in the dépôt légale.19 His legal name also needed to be printed on each issue. While pseudonymity was popular in journalism, it would have been illegal for a gérant to use a pseudonym.20

A journal’s owner, in addition to legally organizing the administration and declaring the nature of the intended paper, would need to find an available and willing printer and negotiate the terms of their business relationship. Not anyone could be a printer: they were required to have licenses, called brevets, and these brevets were limited in Paris to eighty.21 This limit had excluded Le Pianiste’s printer, Jules Delacour, and while it probably had little effect on the contents of Le Pianiste, the journal was printed illegally (or at best, semi-legally). The government dossier on Delacour shows that he had a license to be a bookseller (which included permission to own a cabinet de lecture) and a license to be a lithographer, but that he had tried in vain to obtain a printing brevet.22 His file in the Archives nationales includes his pleas to the government stating that his neighborhood, Vaugirard, a commune of Paris (now taking up part of

19 The law stated that it must be done immediately, but from the records of deposit for Le Pianiste, in practice there was often a delay between the date of publication and the deposit. 20 This knowledge helped to discover the real identity of Le Pianiste’s gérant, Jules Delacour. I also note here that while the identity of Le Dilettante’s gérant, G. d’Egrefeuille, remains unknown, the signature must be a real name, and that d’Egrefeuille is not necessarily the owner, or even a musician or an author of that paper. 21 Archives nationales F/18/1753. 22 Ibid. 36 the 15th arrondissement), had need for a local printer. His requests were denied because Paris already had the maximum number of printers allowed. Delacour then found an illegal solution. He set up a pseudo-shop in Meudon, a town just outside Paris, and obtained a printing license there while he ran the business in Vaugirard. The government caught up with him in

1838, and after lengthy deliberations and a discussion of his story, surprisingly awarded him a brevet in Paris with no consequences for his previous behavior.23

Once a journal was in operation, its content was overseen by the government and there were other longstanding restrictions on and potential consequences for print media. For instance, a non-political journal like Le Pianiste could not print political news or commentary, as it had not paid a cautionnement nor declared its political intent beforehand. Laws existed prohibiting anything vulgar, or anything that defied “good morals and public morality.”24 A journal could be sued for libel, too, even for something seemingly innocuous like a negative music review. The pianist Henri Herz, for instance, won a libel suit against the owner (and gérant) of the Gazette musicale over of the contents of an article in the Gazette.25

Fear of government censorship or retaliation affected the content of Le Pianiste in at least one case. Le Pianiste was apparently concerned that it might face negative consequences for discussing the pianos at the Exposition des produits de l’industrie because it might be seen as a shill to benefit (and then also consequently harm) “commercial enterprises.” Le Pianiste’s gérant wrote a letter to the appropriate authority requesting advance permission to run an article on the

23 Ibid. 24 For some examples of what might constitute poor morals, see Gaillard, Catalogue des écrits, gravures et dessins condamnés depuis 1814 jusqu’au 1er janvier 1850; suivi de la liste des individus condamnés pour délits de la presse (Paris, 1850). 25 Gazette musicale, an 1/18 (4 May 1834), 1. I will be discussing this incident in more detail in a forthcoming article. 37

Exposition; this letter was reprinted in Le Pianiste to alert its readers of the efforts undertaken to enrich the journal’s content. The letter explained that Le Pianiste wished to report on the pianos on display because it was a journal “uniquely consecrated to the piano.”26 To ameliorate any suspicions of illegal activity, the letter stated, “Please note that the report is not, in any way, written in the interest of any particular manufacturer, and cannot be regarded, therefore, as an announcement made to benefit a commercial enterprise.”27 Le Pianiste did not receive permission by its requested deadline and therefore was forced to defer printing its report until permission could be obtained. An article on the pianos appeared in its subsequent issue, but it was signed by “a subscriber,” something unusual in Le Pianiste, and probably a semi-legal solution since the author was not a part of the journal’s administration. It is possible that the article was simply ghostwritten by someone in Le Pianiste.28

It seems paradoxical in this case that Le Pianiste was worried about the journal benefitting a commercial enterprise, because journalism itself would naturally benefit or harm a musician’s “business” by publishing reviews. A publishing house journal could benefit the owner’s publishing business by using articles as literary advertisements for the owner’s editions.

Reconstructing the situation from the letter, it seems that the piano, as a manufactured good, was given different legal protection than paper media like music scores and journals. In any case, this is a clear instance in which Le Pianiste’s output was affected by legal constraints, despite the fact that it was not the sort of journal normally under censorial scrutiny.

26 Le Pianiste an 1, 126. Letter from Jules Delacour to Monsieur le Directeur de l’enregistrement et des domaines. “[...] uniquement consacrées au piano [...]” 27 Ibid. “Veuillez considérer que le compte rendu n’est, en aucune manière, rédigé dans l’intérêt de tel ou tel facteur, et ne peut être regardé, en conséquence, comme une annonce faite pour favoriser une entreprise commerciale.” 28 Le Pianiste an 1, 130; also another article borrowed from Journal du Commerce on an 1, 171–172. 38

The relative freedom of the press that characterized King Louis-Philippe’s reign in 1830 had dissolved by 1835. After an attempt on Louis-Philippe’s life in July of 1835, he reinstituted strict censorship on journalism.29 Because of increased fines and the doubling of the cautionnement for political papers, many small papers ceased operation.30 It is unclear what effect these laws had on the non-political papers, if any, but the disappearance of Le Pianiste and the timing of the September laws suggest some sort of connection. For Le Pianiste, the lithographs for which it was known were made illegal by the September laws. One law banned the printing of all drawings and images without prior permission, stating, “no drawing, no engraving, lithograph, medallion, or stamp, no emblem, of any nature and kind whatsoever, may be published, displayed, or offered for sale without the prior authorization of the Minister of the

Interior.”31 I have found no record indicating whether Le Pianiste gained permission to continue publishing its portraits; the three portraits published after September 1835 may have been printed illegally.

As stated earlier, Le Pianiste’s editors announced a temporary hiatus in October 1835, but the journal never resumed publication in January 1836 as planned. While the official reason for closure was that illness and family affairs had made the editors too busy to work on Le Pianiste, the September laws may have contributed to the journal’s demise. Delacour was a lithographer by trade and there were new restrictions on his work, and likely increased delays. There was more oversight, more work, and more risk involved in publishing. It is possible that when the

29 Collingham, 165–166. 30 Ibid., 167. 31 Celliez, 89. Loi du septembre 1835 titre III.20. “Aucune dessin, aucunes gravures, lithographies, médailles, et estampes, aucun emblème, de quelque nature et espèce qu’ils soient, ne pourront être publiés, exposés ou mis en vente sans l’autorisation préalable du ministre de l’intérieur, à Paris, et des préfets, dans les départemens.” 39 editors reconvened at the end of 1835, it was no longer feasible to publish a music journal in the way that had been organized previously.

Turning a Profit (Or not)

Laws, at least, were fairly predictable, but the economics of owning a music journal were anything but. Surprisingly, owning a journal often meant losing money, as many papers were not solvent.32 A paper made money through subscriptions, but that income was commonly not enough to recoup such costs of printing as price of paper, stamp tax, shipping costs, wages, etc.

Nor did a journal make money through advertisements, which were only beginning to be published in the daily papers, and had not yet appeared in music journals of the 1830s.33

Historian Irene Collins has noted that some proprietors viewed losing money on a paper as a badge of honor or a display of patriotism.34 However, at least for the music press, there were other ways of making money from journals that have not been fully considered.

Many nineteenth-century music journals, like Le Pianiste or the Gazette musicale, were connected to publishing houses.35 Katharine Ellis has discovered that the Gazette consistently lost money, yet shareholder reports argue that the journal was worth keeping open if only for its value as a promotion tool for the publishing firm that owned it.36 Therefore, while losing money on the journal itself, a publisher could earn that money back and more by advertising the works

32 Irene Collins, “The Government and the Press in France during the Reign of Louis-Philippe,” English Historical Review 69 (1954), 264. 33 Ibid., 267. 34 Ibid., 264. 35 This is true not only for France, but also Germany and England, at least. 36 Ellis, Music Criticism, 269. 40 and composers with which the publishing business was engaged. The advertisements would have been in the form of positive reviews, philosophical musing, general publicity, or even fiction.37

This indirect methods of profiting offers a crucial insight into the thinking of publisher’s journals and the business world around them, but there is more to these reports. Because one cannot quantify a publishing business’s additional profits and tangibly attribute them to the music journal’s criticism, this shareholder argument was more about the sense of power that the journal lent the business The availability of a journal, with its capacity to influence people, control the stories that got printed, and quickly counteract negative news was understood to protect the publishing business and be worth the loss of income. This power then is a type of capital that may be transformed into monetary gain in another setting.

Since a journal owner held this power, musicians might ingratiate themselves with him to gain access to that influence and to secure good reviews. The German poet Heinrich Heine, who lived in Paris from 1831 until his death in 1856, was well aware of this when he noted the following about Maurice Schlesinger: “While I was still high in favor with the manager of the

Gazette musicale (alas, my youthful levity caused a revulsion!), I could see plainly, with my own eyes, how these famous ones [musicians] lay obsequiously at his feet, and crawled and wagged their tails in order to secure a little praise in his journal.”38 While this passage refers to flattery, a musician might be willing to act at the behest of a journal owner in the same spirit, as Heine suggests the musicians “wagged their tails,” like good dogs eager to please their master with tricks.

37 Ellis has argued that the fiction in the Gazette was thinly-veiled propaganda for Schlesinger’s business. Katharine Ellis, “The Uses of Fiction: Contes and Nouvelles in the Revue et gazette musicale de Paris, 1834–1844,” Revue de Musicologie 90/2 (2004): 253–281. 38 Heinrich Heine, Heinrich Heine’s Musical Feuilletons, translated by Fredrick H. Martens, The Musical Quarterly 8 (1 July 1922), 446 (from report dated 20 March 1843). 41

Some journal owners exerted this power by requiring bribes from musicians to continue positive reporting. Kerry Murphy has noted letters from musicians that refer to “protection,” meaning the giving of money in exchange for favorable reviews.39 Since all of these letters are addressed to Charles Maurice, the editor of the Courrier des théâtres, it appears this was a tacit requirement for his journal. In a similar fashion, it has been alleged that Meyerbeer used his wealth to pay critics for positive reviews, but Murphy notes that instead critics would have relied on Meyerbeer for personal loans.40 In this case, positive reviews might have been a byproduct of a separate arrangement: the critics dare not insult Meyerbeer’s music since he was their source of income. This sort of agreement is much more indirect than paying someone for positive reviews, though the outcome is nearly identical.

Outright bribery, as in the case of the Courrier des théâtres, was probably rare. Instead it was more common for a critic or owner to earn benefits from his articles in more subtle ways.

For instance, theaters or artists would give critics free tickets. In Illusions perdues, Balzac suggests that these tickets were provided for purposes other than attending at no cost. Rather, the artists would give many tickets, maybe dozens, so the critic could resell them to others and earn some money through their sale.41 Evidence of this sort of ticket exchange exists in Le Pianiste, and while it is unclear if the administration was given extra tickets to resell, the journal did indicate that tickets influenced the outcome of reviews. It was mentioned on a number of occasions that the “customary” tickets were not given to Lemoine, and the journal publicly

39 Murphy, 62. 40 Murphy, 63, citing Heinz Becker, Der Fall Heine-Meyerbeer (Berlin: W. de Gruyter, 1958). 41 see Honoré de Balzac, Lost Illusions (Illusions perdues), translated by Kathleen Raine (New York: The Modern Library, 1951), 57 and 300. The exchange of tickets for payment, in this case given to a claqueur, someone hired to give applause at a concert, is also mentioned in Charles de Boigne, Petits mémoires de l’Opéra (Paris, 1857), 87–88. “Auguste ne recevait pas d’argent de la direction; il était payé en billets (87).” Mentioned in William Crosten, French Grand Opera: An Art and a Business (New York: King’s Crown Press, 1948), 43. 42 rebuked the party that neglected to provide them. Once, the failure to give tickets resulted in no review at all; in its place, Le Pianiste mentioned that an article would not be written since no tickets were received.42

Le Pianiste also suggested openly that ticket exchange might lead to a positive review.

For instance, for Ferdinand Hiller’s concert on 15 December 1833 at the grand-salle du garde- meuble de la Couronne, the journal explained that despite the lack of tickets, and despite the hardship the critic had to endure by paying for entry, the journal would give a fair review:

If we speak well of this concert, our praise cannot be suspicious, because it will be totally disinterested, and it’s the law that we must pay for entrance at the door. M. Hiller cared, doubtless, neither for our presence nor for our opinion, because LE PIANISTE did not receive the usual tickets. But LE PIANISTE knows his duties, and had he been forced to condemn himself — which, by the grace of God and his subscribers, isn’t the case — to live on bread and water for two days, in order to buy a good seat at this concert where the piano played such a large role, he would not have hesitated to do it.43

This snub seems to have been rectified by January 1835, because at least one of the editors of Le

Pianiste reported being invited to a private soirée at Hiller’s, where Chopin and Hiller played.44

Similarly, for Charles Schunke’s concert on 12 April 1834, Le Pianiste wrote, “it was a lovely evening, and although no invitation made its way to Le Pianiste, le Pianiste would have thought [itself] to be missing the commitments that it has undertaken towards its subscribers, by

42 Le Pianiste an 2, 55. “It is said that an interesting concert took place at Mlle Berlot’s, but, not having received an invitation card, we shall not be responsible for discussing it.” “On dit même qu’une autre réunion intéressante avait lieu chez Mlle Berlot; mais, n’ayant pas reçu de carte d’invitation, nous n’aurons pas à nous en occuper.” 43 “Si nous disons du bien de ce concert, nos éloges ne pourront être suspects, car ils seront bien désintéressés, et c’est un droit qu’à la porte nous aurons acheté en entrant. M. Hiller ne se souciait, sans doute, ni de notre présence, ni de notre opinion, car LE PIANISTE n’a pas reçu les billets d’usage. Mais LE PIANISTE connaît ses devoirs, et eût-il dû se condamner— ce qui, grâce à Dieu et à ses abonnés, n’est pas— à vivre de pain et d’eau pendant deux jours, pour acheter une place et une bonne place à ce concert où le piano jouait un si grand rôle, il n’eût pas hésité à le faire.” Le Pianiste an 1, 42. “Concert de F. Hiller, 15 Décember, dans la grande salle du garde-meuble de la Couronne.” 44 Le Pianiste an 2, 41. 43 failing to find itself there.”45 Likewise, for a concert of the Lambert sisters (“A.”, a singer and

“H.”, a pianist, who performed together) on 3 April 1835, Le Pianiste wrote, “Le PIANISTE will be more courteous towards mesdemoiselles Lambert than mesdemoiselles Lambert have been polite towards Le Pianiste, who did not receive invitations for their concert.”46 The lack of manners seems to have been magnified for H. Lambert, by the fact that Le Pianiste had often spoken well of her pianistic ability, and she had failed to acknowledged the journal with tickets and invitations.47 Even if the editors chose to attend a concert without having received the free tickets, the fact that they mentioned their extreme politesse and “disinterest” sheds light on the typical practices of the day.

Consequences for Bad Behavior

Being a musician and a critic in this milieu were not mutually exclusive activities, however. Musicians were also critics, publishers were critics, musicians were publishers, and everyone had to negotiate the needs of their various positions. If good behavior earned a person rewards and positive reviews, what would be the consequences for bad behavior? What if allegiance or favors to one person earned retaliation from another? Le Pianiste provides an interesting perspective on these matters because the men involved in its production were critics, publishers, and working musicians with various publishing contracts of their own.

45 “C’était une belle soirée, et quoique aucune invitation n’ait été faite au Pianiste, le Pianiste aurait cru manquer aux engagemens qu’il a contractés envers ses abonnés, et négligeant de s’y trouver.” Le Pianiste an 1, 110. 46 “Le PIANISTE sera plus galant envers mesdemoiselles Lambert que mesdemoiselles Lambert n’ont été polies envers le Pianiste, qui n’avait pas reçu d’invitations pour leur concert.” Le Pianiste an 2, 94. Concert held at Salle Chantereine. 47 Little is known about H. Lambert: She was from a musical dynasty: the Lambert family was mentioned in comparison to the Bach family in Le Pianiste, and a letter exists from Chopin to her at the Library of Congress. Her first name is unknown. 44

With their inside knowledge, Lemoine and Chaulieu used Le Pianiste to reveal the inner workings of the press by signaling various behaviors around them that they felt were improper.

Their doing so was certainly an attempt to discredit others and promote the fairness of their own journal, but some part of it was a wholesome attempt to expose the trickery found in certain articles. In some cases, these “exposés” were counterattacks for bad reviews of their own music, and those reviews may have been retaliation for something else. The majority of this activity centered on two rival journals: Le Dilettante, owned by Franz Stoepel, a musician, and the

Gazette musicale, owned by Maurice Schlesinger, a publisher. The substance of these feuds shows the ways in which journals might be used to promote personal power, and how public, private, and business life were not separated in these early publishing house journals. Finally, it provides new insight into the ways that publishing house journals operated behind the scenes.

While the main conflict during Le Pianiste’s print run involved the Gazette, this enmity began with the Gazette’s predecessor, Le Dilettante, which folded into the Gazette soon after the latter’s opening. Le Pianiste had a good relationship with Le Dilettante at the beginning of Le

Dilettante’s short print run; for instance, Le Pianiste was pleased that Le Dilettante came to

Hérold’s defense against German papers criticizing his music, and Le Dilettante wrote positive reviews of Chaulieu’s Le Labyrinthe (op. 146).48 In Le Dilettante’s last issue, however, the tone towards Lemoine and Chaulieu changed abruptly when it printed a long article attacking them both. While the article did not mention Le Pianiste by name, the journal was clearly its intended target. This criticism in Le Dilettante began, “it is truly deplorable to think that known composers, distinguished artists, and men of talent, sacrifice their reputation to the caprice of

48 Le Dilettante, 6 November 1833, 3. Review of Chaulieu’s op. 146 Le Labyrinthe. 45 fashion, to the demands of music sellers, and to the ignorant rabble.”49 The article continued with veiled insults, like a swipe at the Enfants d’Apollon, of which Chaulieu was a member, before mentioning five works by Lemoine or Chaulieu that were called especially “futile.”50 Le

Dilettante explained, “if distinguished men, like Chaulieu, don’t make use of their higher musical faculties, they are offenders of art, and fall down among the riffraff who are manufacturers of notes, who work a page at a time.”51 The abrupt change in tone between earlier positive reviews for Chaulieu and this review suggests that something happened between Le

Pianiste and Le Dilettante, or between Lemoine, Chaulieu, and Stoepel, but what, if anything, cannot presently be determined.52

Displeased with the criticism they received from Le Dilettante, Lemoine and Chaulieu used their position in publishing to reveal a secret: the name of the owner of Le Dilettante. No article in Le Dilettante was ever signed, no one made any claim of ownership in the journal, and its owner also remains unknown in modern scholarship.53 The following passage, printed in Le

Pianiste immediately after Le Dilettante and the Gazette musicale’s merger, brings to light the owner’s identity:

“Do you know, Monsieur, who is the dilettante whose marriage was announced with Madame Gazette?”

49 “Il est vraiment déplorable de penser que les compositeurs connus, des artistes distingués, enfin des hommes de talent, sacrifient leur réputation au caprice de la mode, aux demandes des marchands de musique, et à la tourbe si nombreuses des ignorants.” Le Dilettante, 8 January 1834, 3. 50 Works cited: two bagatelles by Lemoine (his fourth bagatelle on Le Dilettante d’Avignon [Halevy] and his eighth bagatelle on a ballad from Robert le Diable [Meyerbeer]), and three rondos by Chaulieu (his rondo Pastoral (op. 62), rondo on La Fiancée (op. 75) [Auber], and rondo on La Langue musicale (op. 117) [Halevy]). 51 Le Dilettante, 8 January 1834, 4. “Si des gens distingués, comme M. Chaulieu, ne font pas usage de leurs hautes facultés musicales, ils sont coupables envers l’art, et retombent dans la foule des fabricants de notes, qui travaillent à tant par page.” 52 A curious thing about this article is that three of the five works mentioned were published by Schlesinger, the owner of the Gazette musicale that Le Dilettante had already agreed to fold in to. This may suggest that Stoepel was unhappy with the merge. 53 It is because of Le Pianiste’s attribution that I have named the owner as Franz Stoepel earlier. 46

“Yes, Madame, he is called... he is called St... Sto... Stop...” “Who, Stoepel?” “No, Madame, wait... Stop... Ah! here it is: Stopinet.” “Come now, Monsieur, there isn’t anyone named Stopinet!” “I read it perfectly, to the left of the first line of what he called his last thought... the bachelor; yes, Madame, Stopinet.”54

There is no one named Stopinet, as “Madame” knows, so this bit of gossip simultaneously identified the person behind Le Dilettante and denied it.55

While Stoepel’s name cannot be corroborated in official paperwork because the declarations for Le Dilettante are missing from the archives, the attribution seems indisputable.

Franz Stoepel was Prussian who had lived all over the German states and in London before moving to Paris in 1829. Stoepel had earlier started two music journals, the Allgemeiner musikalischer Anzeiger in Frankfurt in 1826 and the Münchener allgemeine Musikzeitung in

Munich in 1827. His establishing of Le Dilettante would be consistent with his past endeavors.56

The timeline for Stoepel’s relationship with Le Dilettante and the Gazette musicale is also overwhelmingly consistent. Le Dilettante’s final issue overlapped with the Gazette’s first, and only in the Gazette’s subsequent issue was Stoepel featured as the author of an article.57

Furthermore, while no one was listed as the main editor on the Gazette’s front page, both Fétis

54 “Savez-vous, Monsieur, qui est ce dilettante dont on annonce le mariage avec Mad. Gazette?... —Oui, Madame, il s’appelle... il s’appelle St... Sto... Stop... —Qui, Stoepel? — Non, Madame, attendez... Stop... Ah! le voilà: Stopinet. —Allons donc, Monsieur, est-ce qu’on appelle Stopinet! —Je l’ai parfaitement lu, à gauche de la première ligne de ce qu’il appelle sa dernière pensée... de célibataire; oui, Madame, Stopinet.” Le Pianiste, an 1, 39. 55 I have not been able to identify where Le Pianiste read “Stopinet;” it may have been someone’s hand-written and misspelled note in the margin of Le Pianiste’s copy of the journal. 56 see François-Joseph Fétis, Biographie Universelle des musiciens et Biographie générale de la musique vol 8 (Brussels, 1837), 291–293. 57 Katharine Ellis has identified the “Le Poste” as Stoepel because of the anagrammatic relationship between Stoepel and Le Poste. 47 and Heinrich Probst named Stoepel as its editor, which would be a fitting placement for someone who had merged his own journal with the Gazette.58

After the merger with the Gazette, Le Pianiste continued to criticize Stoepel. The journal mocked his group piano classes based on the Logier system and made fun of his advertisements that claimed he was a professor. Possibly to avoid any libel suit, Le Pianiste often referred to

Stoepel with nicknames: the “savant professeur” or “bon professeur,” as well as “author of the

Rose.” In these instances, personal spite became wrapped up in aesthetic arguments, and while the criticism for Stoepel’s piano academy and its concerts might have been heartfelt, it was also clouded by previous interactions. This exchange, however, cannot compare to the complex relationship between Le Pianiste and Gazette musicale, but serves as an important background layer to the subsequent interactions with the Gazette.

The Gazette musicale is considered to be one of the most important music journals in nineteenth-century France. It had a long life and regularly featured writing from such significant figures as Berlioz and Liszt (though Liszt’s pieces were often ghost-written by Marie d’Agoult).59 While later scholars such as Ellis have traced the Gazette’s importance back to its roots, its contemporaries did not hold it in such high esteem at its start. The journal was unpopular at first and its early life was marred by a series of scandals: its owner, Schlesinger, was convicted of libel for a negative review in the Gazette about Henri Herz (mentioned above), and he engaged in a series of pistol duels with musicians and announced the results (his wins,

58 see François-Joseph Fétis, and Breitkopf und Härtel in Paris: The Letters of their Agent Heinrich Probst between 1833 and 1840, Translation and commentary by Hans Lenneberg, Musical Life in 19th-Century France, vol 5 (Stuyvesant, NY: Pendragon Press, 1990), 5. 59 See Ellis, Music Criticism, 149n. 48 naturally) in the Gazette itself.60 While we know now that the journal would last nearly 50 years, we learn from some letters of Heinrich Probst, the Parisian agent for Breitkopf und Härtel’s publishing house, that the Gazette nearly closed a few months after its start because of its unpopularity.61

The Gazette was subjected to ridicule in many music papers at first, but most of these discussions appear to be disembodied complaints about differences in taste.62 The discussion in

Le Pianiste, by contrast, focuses on the revelation of the Gazette’s alleged biased interests, and shows the Gazette’s early difficulties in a new light. Behind the gossipy nature of the accounts of this rivalry, there is a lesson about contemporary journalistic ethics. The relationship that developed between the owners and editors of these two papers may be unmatched in nineteenth- century music journalism: Schlesinger and Lemoine owned rival papers, but both Lemoine and

Chaulieu had publishing contracts as composers with Schlesinger’s publishing business. The creative means by which the men exerted control over one another illustrates, as a case study, how music journalism functioned as a source of power for journal owners, and offers new avenues for critical interpretation of contemporary criticism.

The Gazette’s early criticism is now revered for its support of serious, German, Romantic music, but Le Pianiste thought that its pro-German stance was not ideological as much as it was political. Behind the Gazette, Le Pianiste saw a Prussian publisher, Schlesinger, who had ties to the German states and who had German artists in his catalog. Schlesinger still had a tangible

60 Schlesinger also freely discussed these happenings in the Gazette. See, for instance, Gazette musicale, an 1/10 (20 March 1834), 82 (report of pistol duel between Schlesinger and Theodore Labarre); Gazette musicale, an 1/13 (20 March 1834), 99. (report of pistol duel between Schlesinger and Herz’s student Alexandre Billard). One of the few modern scholarly articles about Schlesinger refers to him as “hot headed.” Anik Devriès, “Un éditeur de musique ‘à la tête ardente’: Maurice Schlesinger,” Fontes Artis Musicæ 27/3–4 (July –December 1980): 406–409. 61 Breitkopf und Härtel in Paris, 9. 62 For instance, anti-Gazette articles can be found in the Revue musicale and La Romance. 49 interest in Germany as his father, Adolf-Martin Schlesinger, also owned his own music publishing business in Berlin.63 Father and son often shared publishing contracts, so if the Paris

Schlesinger got a contract for a piece, then that work could also be simultaneously released in

Germany under the Berlin Schlesinger.

This would have been perfectly acceptable, except that Schlesinger’s journal was full of praise for German artists and disparagement for French ones, and Le Pianiste believed that the

Gazette was unfairly anti-French. The Gazette, from the start, belittled French musical taste and musical institutions and offered German alternatives in their place. The very first article in the

Gazette announced in no uncertain terms that French music was mediocre, stating, “it’s now a well-recognized truth that the most happy sentiment of truth and beauty, and the most pure enthusiasm for true art has been corrupted in France, during the last ten years, by the frivolity and mediocrity of many musicians in vogue, to the point that, today, the dominant taste is the subject of derision for all reasonable people.”64 The Gazette’s first issue also announced that its own method of journalism would be superior to all that came before. It singled out certain authors “who [...] exalt their own work with a proud modesty,” which could be a reference to

Fétis, Lemoine, or Chaulieu, among others, who advertised their own work in their journals.65

The back page of the issue then relayed musical news from Germany, including things such as a

63 Adolf-Martin Schlesinger also had owned a music journal from 1824 to 1830, the Berliner allgemeine musikalische Zeitung, which has been indexed by RIPM. 64 “C’est maintenant une vérité bien reconnue que le sentiment le plus heureux du vrai et du beau, et l’enthousiasme le plus pur pour l’art véritable ont été corrompus en France, pendant les dix dernières années, par la frivolité et la médiocrité de plusieurs musiciens en vogue, au point que, aujourd’hui, le goût dominant est un sujet de dérision pour toutes les personnes raisonnables.” Gazette musicale an 1/1 (5 January 1834), 1. 65 “[...] ces auteurs qui, [...] savent ensuite exalter leur ouvrage avec une orgueilleuse modestie [...]” Gazette musicale an 1/1 (5 January 1834), 1. 50 notably mundane list of the new operas heard in German cities in the previous year (no such list was printed for other nations).

Even in the impure journalistic world that I have painted, the Gazette stood out among its contemporaries for its lack of subtlety and finesse in promoting its interests. Le Pianiste complained that the Gazette was unabashed in advertising for its own titles at the expense of others. Over the course of its first year, in addition to announcing that French music was bad and that French music criticism was poor, the Gazette said that France had no decent method for learning music, that French orchestras did not play Beethoven as well as German ones, and that the Paris Conservatoire did not create good musicians.66 The Gazette’s argument that France had no suitable pedagogical method was only a smokescreen to increase sales for Franz Stoepel’s new book.67 In another instance, Schlesinger arranged a concert tour for a German string quartet called the frères Müller, presided over the ticket sales, and then printed multiple laudatory reviews of their concerts.68 Similarly, the Gazette announced that La Juive by Halévy, published by Schlesinger, was among the top five best works of the French school before it had even premiered.69 The relationship between these musicians and Schlesinger was never mentioned in the reviews, yet Le Pianiste knew exactly how Schlesinger was connected to them because of

Lemoine and Chaulieu’s intimate knowledge of the publishing industry.

Due to what Le Pianiste saw as the Gazette’s partisanship, Le Pianiste often referred to the Gazette musicale as the Gazette des Allemands [Gazette of the Germans]. To reclaim control

66 For instance, for news of performances in Germany, see Gazette musicale an 1/1 (5 January 1834), 8; for comments on French orchestras, see 41. 67 Gazette musicale an 1/4 (26 January 1834), 30. 68 See for instance Gazette musicale an 1/10 (9 March 1834), 80–81. 69 see Le Pianiste an 2, 7; and Gazette musicale an 1/41 (12 October 1834), 324 (sic, 332). 51 over what it saw as the spreading of deliberate misinformation, Le Pianiste explained that it had given itself the task of pointing out these problems in the Gazette whenever they arose:

Despite the aristocratic disdain that is affected for journals less expensive than the Gazette des Allemands, which has superiority over others only by its subscription price, Le Pianiste will nonetheless pursue its self-imposed task of signaling, like a vigilant sentinel, all the charlatanism, nonsense, and impertinence contained in certain papers that deal with the musical art form.70

Le Pianiste’s “vigilance” was in part an effort to boost journalism’s integrity, but it was also a defense of Lemoine and Chaulieu’s interests like French nationalism even as it engaged in its own scandal-making. While the Revue musicale later wrote that it had chosen to remain silent about what it called the Gazette’s “idiocy” at the start to show that it was too high-minded to deal with such crass issues, Le Pianiste chose to discuss these issues immediately and consistently.71

Le Pianiste continually alleged that the Gazette was biased and that it buoyed Schlesinger and his German friends over anyone else. For example, Le Pianiste told its readers, “There exists another journal, written by foreigners who profess an anti-French musical opinion, and whose judgements are continually marred by a hostile partiality.”72 This “hostile partiality” might be evident in the article advertising Stoepel’s new method, which said that France continually fell back into “despotic routine,”73 or perhaps showed itself when the Gazette printed a story that

70 “Malgré le dédain aristocratique qu’affecte pour les journaux à bon marché la Gazette des Allemands, qui n’a de supériorité sur les autres que par le prix de son abonnement, le Pianiste n’en continuera pas moins la tâche qu’il s’est imposée de signaler, en sentinelle vigilante, tout ce qu’il y a de charlatanisme, d’absurdité, d’impertinence, dans certains feuilles qui s’occupent de l’art musicale.” Le Pianiste an 2, 14. A subscription to the Gazette was 30F a year, while one for Le Pianiste was 7F a year. 71 Revue musicale (25 May 1834), 168. 72 “Il existe encore un autre journal, rédigé par des étrangers qui professent une opinion musicale anti-française, et dont les jugemens sont continuellement entachés d’une partialité hostile.” Le Pianiste an 2, 111. 73 “[...] despotique routine.” Gazette musicale an 1/4 (26 January 1834), 30. 52 called anyone who had attended the Paris Conservatoire a “naive and gullible disciple.”74

According to Le Pianiste, the Gazette’s bias also extended beyond the general nationalistic promotion of Schlesinger and his friends, and spread into personal politics and failed business arrangements. In a striking portrayal of the “injuries” of the music press, Le

Pianiste claimed that the Gazette was a platform for the strategic destruction of anyone who annoyed or bothered Schlesinger or other people associated with the Gazette. Le Pianiste held nothing back when it explained, “It is evident, to any reasonable person, that the aforementioned

Gazette wants to bring down, one by one, all the celebrities who annoy it, all the celebrities who are the objects of enthusiasm or admiration from the French.”75 Le Pianiste pointed out three people that had been the subject of the Gazette’s wrath: Henri Herz, Rossini, and Hummel. As noted earlier, Herz had successfully sued Schlesinger for libel, and Le Pianiste saw in this and subsequent behavior something other than aesthetic arguments.

Le Pianiste did not focus its attention only on Schlesinger’s journal, but also freely commented on his music business. Le Pianiste alleged that in his shop, Schlesinger forced people to buy music that he published, even when they did not want to. In an article entitled “S et S,” which stood for “Schlesinger and Schunke,” Le Pianiste printed a parody of Schlesinger’s current connection with the pianist Charles Schunke.76 In the Gazette musicale, the back page was filled with advertisements with multiple instances of Schunke’s name in giant block letters.77

74 “Un violoncelliste du Conservatoire, un de ces naïfs et crédules disciples comme il en faut au professeurs de la rue Bergère [...]” Gazette musicale an 1/19 (11 May 1834), 154. See also response in Le Pianiste an 1, 127. 75 “Il est évident, pour tous les gens raisonnables, que ladite Gazette veut abattre une à une toutes les célébrités qui la gênent, toutes les célébrités objets de l’engouement ou de l’admiration des Français.” Le Pianiste an 2, 14. 76 Charles Schunke (1801–1839), not to be confused with Ludwig Schunke (1810–1834). 77 See for instance, Gazette musicale an 2 (2 August 1835), 260. 53

The article in question was an invented conversation between a woman who wanted to buy sheet music, and a man identifiable as Schlesinger from his catalog’s content and his reference to “my

Gazette.” In the story, the woman enters a shop and tells “M. editor” that she would like some works by certain composers. She is seeking works by, among others, Adolphe Adam, Henri Herz,

Frédéric Kalkbrenner, Lemoine, or Chaulieu. In this little comedic sketch, the editor unfailingly replies that he does not have what she wants but he has something by Schunke.78 The editor succeeds in his game and manages to sell 136 Fr 50 centimes worth (a large sum) of Schunke’s music to the woman. The article closes with the editor speaking to himself after the transaction:

“This is an excellent practice!”79

Le Pianiste also made comments about the lack of quality in Schlesinger’s music editions. As a music publisher, Schlesinger had a reputation for printing works with mistakes. Le

Pianiste mentioned this issue often, by pointing out errors and generally rebuking Schlesinger for the quality of his editions. This had the effect of helping Le Pianiste’s readership identify the correct notes in a score, and also served as a tacit reminder for musicians of Lemoine’s publishing services, which one was meant to assume were free from error. Le Pianiste’s attention to this matter finally caused the Gazette to respond. Regarding the French edition of Chopin’s

Fantasy on Polish Airs (op. 13), the Gazette printed an article outlining the mistakes in the edition while conveniently failing to mention that it was Schlesinger who had published it. The

Gazette’s article called for the public

to make attentive comparisons of the dubious passages with other publications or editions. This care is all the more necessary in view of the particular nature of the works of Chopin, which often slip into faults, despite all the precautions that the editor takes to

78 Le Pianiste an 2, 143. 79 “Voilà une excellente pratique!” Le Pianiste an 2, 143. 54

avoid them. Thus, for example, the treble clef is missing in the first and third measures of the sixth staff, page 7; the same for the first measure of the eighth staff; the bass clef has been forgotten in the fourth measure of the 10th staff, page 16, and the treble clef is missing again in the first and fifth measures of the 12th staff, same page; not to mention the many wrong notes that exist here and there.80

The Gazette’s response displeased Le Pianiste for a number of reasons. First, the article admitted no fault and argued that Chopin’s music was too difficult to edit well, an excuse that surely frustrated Lemoine as a publisher. Second, since the obvious solution to the problem of wrong notes was to consult another edition, and since people were already doing this, the article suggesting so was almost insulting. Le Pianiste responded sarcastically to the advice with a sense of exasperation: “Can you comprehend, different editions!”81 Third, and most important, was that the article’s attempt at clarification failed because it only identified fairly obvious clef problems in the edition. Le Pianiste believed that anyone skilled enough to play Chopin would know when a clef was wrong, and that the Gazette would be more helpful if it pointed out less obvious note mistakes. To explain further, Le Pianiste argued that Chopin’s music had a certain unique characteristic that made it so that Chopin himself was the only person who could rectify the important questions of notes.82 Any other mistakes, like clefs, could then be corrected by anyone.

“Therefore,” Le Pianiste explained, “the revision of proofs must be done by himself [Chopin], from which it follows that the few remaining errors can surely be rectified by anyone besides the

80 “...de faire des comparaisons attentives des passages douteux avec le texte d’autres tirages ou éditions. Ce soin est d’autant plus nécessaire, qu’en raison de la nature particulière des oeuvres de Chopin, il s’y glisse fréquemment des fautes, malgré toutes les précautions que prend l’editeur pour les éviter. Ainsi, par exemple, manque la clef de sol dans les 1re et 3e mesures de la portée 6, page 7; de même dans la 1re mesure de la 8e portée; la clef de fa est oubliée dans la 4e mesure de la 10e portée; page 16, et la clef de sol manque encore dans les 1re et 5e mesures de la 12e portée, même page; sans parler de plusieurs fausses notes qui existent ça ou là.” Gazette musicale an 1/24 (15 May 1834), 195. 81 “Merci, bon gazetier, merci!” and “Comprenez vous, les différentes éditions!!” Le Pianiste an 1, 142 (footnote). 82 Ibid. 55 author. Do you understand?”83 Le Pianiste seems to recognize in 1834 what Jeffrey Kallberg would identify as the Chopin ‘Problem’ in 1996: that the musical world would have difficulty because Chopin’s editions published in different countries do not agree on matters such as pitch, and with variant and simultaneously published “first editions,” there is often a question of which note Chopin intended.84

Like Schlesinger’s musical editions, the Gazette itself was prone to typological errors, and Le Pianiste often pointed out these mistakes as well. For instance, after commenting that the

Gazette spelled words and names differently within the same issue (both estétique and esthétique, List and Liszt, Schneitzhofer and Schneïtzoëffer, for example), Le Pianiste commented on the Gazette’s ability to hold a reader’s attention: “But what does this [pattern of errors] prove? That the overseer is distracted, negligent, or that the Gazette puts him to sleep while reading the proofs of his own journal?”85

Worst of all, in Le Pianiste’s view, was that the same publisher who promoted the

German artists in his catalog was making his living on French money and French commerce, so

Le Pianiste felt that the Gazette’s pro-German stance was not only self-serving but an offense to the French public from whom Schlesinger profited. Schlesinger’s main source of profit (perhaps

83 “Dès lors aussi, la révision des épreuves doit être faite par lui-même; d'où il résultera qu'il y restera des erreurs que tout autre que l'auteur eût certainement rectifiées. Comprenez-vous? [emphasis original].” Le Pianiste an 1, 142–143. 84 Jeffrey Kallberg, “The Chopin ‘Problem’: Simultaneous Variants and Alternate Versions,” Chopin at the Boundaries: Sex, History, and Musical Genre (Cambridge, MA, and London: Harvard University Press, 1996), 215– 228. See also Chopin First Editions Online. . 85 “Mais qu'est-ce qu'est cela prouve? que le prote de cette feuille est distrait, négligent, ou que la Gazette s'est endormie en lisant les épreuves de son propre journal?” Le Pianiste an 2, 15. One of Le Pianiste’s own issues was full of mistakes; afterward it announced that the typesetter who performed these errors had been immediately fired. Issue an 2/2, report of dismissal an 2/3. 56 his only) was through the publishing of Meyerbeer’s operas.86 Therefore Le Pianiste was particularly displeased when the Gazette launched various insults toward the French, brooding over the following:

Messieurs of the Gazette des Allemands, who came to throw the least polite sarcasms at the rest of us French, should reflect a little before writing that we only like musique sautillante, and that otherwise when someone tells us “This is music,” we say: “This is music!” It seems to us that 10,000 fr. of revenue for the 107th performance of the opera of their Meyerbeer, and furthermore its immense success in our departemen[t]s, are a sufficient refutation of this impertinent argument.87

The precise meaning of the Gazette’s insult, musique sautillante, is unclear; it is most literally translatable as “jumpy” music, and probably refers to music that is lively or cheerful. In any case, Le Pianiste believed that all music had value, from the most simple and unassuming to the most complex and ambitious, and here it showed that this aesthetic was a source of national pride. Schlesinger’s ability to make a living was made possible by what Le Pianiste saw as

France’s openness to new music. Referring to Germans who “would not eat French bread if there were any brioche at home,” Le Pianiste suggested that while France’s superior economic situation drew immigrants, some did not appreciate the success their new country afforded.88

The tactic of signaling various negative things about the Gazette seems to have increased

Le Pianiste’s popularity and engaged the public. In one instance, a subscriber penned a light

86 Breitkopf und Härtel in Paris, 5. Letter of January 1, 1834. “If he [Schlesinger] does not soon get another Robert, he will go to the diable.” This suggests that Meyerbeer’s operas were the only things keeping him afloat. See also Le Pianiste an 1, 149 footnote. 87 “Messieurs de la Gazette des Allemands, qui viennent nous lancer des sarcasmes peu polis jusque chez nous autres Français, devraient un peu réfléchir avant que d’écrire que nous n’aimons que la musique sautillante, et que d’ailleurs lorsqu’on nous dit: «Voilà de la musique,» nous disons: «Voilà de la musique!» Il nous semble à nous que 10,000 fr. de recette à la 107e représentation de l’opéra de leur Meyerbeer, et plus encore son immense succès dans nos départemens, sont une réfutation suffisante de cet impertinent argument.” Le Pianiste an 1, 149 (footnote). 88 “[...] ces étrangers que nous avons signalés en disant d’eux, qu’ils ne viendraient pas manger le pain des Français s’ils avaient de la brioche chez eux.” Also Le Pianiste an 2, 104. “Croyez-vous que ces messieurs allemands ou prussiens viendraient manger le pain des Français s’ils avaient de la brioche chez eux? Non, monsieur, non.” Le Pianiste an 2, 136. 57 singsong poem about the Gazette and sent it to Le Pianiste where it was printed.89 The anonymous poet had written his poem after seeing an advertisement for the Gazette in Le

Constitutionnel, one of the most-read daily political papers.90 Advertising a music journal in a daily was a highly unusual tactic if not an unprecedented one. To understand the joke of the poem, it is necessary to explain that the Gazette was unusual in that it had a huge list of “editors” printed on its masthead every issue, which more accurately could be called contributors. The advertisement in the Le Constitutionnel repeated the same list from the masthead. The poem printed in Le Pianiste alleged that the Gazette had amassed a larger group of editors than it had subscribers, and delivered this message in a silly tone meant to reflect the subject and its actions.

The poem is as follows:

Le bon gazetier musicale, The good “gazetier musicale” l’autre jour dans un grand journal, The other day, in a major newspaper, Fit mettre la liste complette Placed the complete list Des rédacteurs de sa gazette, Of the editors of its Gazette. Et longue elle est assurement! And long it was assuredly! Mais, suivant notre sentiment But, here is our thought Soit dit, sans malice, To be said, without malice Moindre eût été le sacrifice, The sacrifice would have been less Il eût agi plus prudemment, It would have acted more prudently Et plus économiquement And more economically Dans l’intérêt de sa cassette, In the interest of its purse S’il eût mis la liste complette If it had made the complete list Des abonnés de son journal, Of the subscribers of its journal Le bon gazetier musical!91 The good “gazetier musicale!”

89 It is possible that this letter was a fabrication of the editors, but since they openly denounced the Gazette in print, there seems to be no reason to hide behind an “anonymous” letter. 90 Le Constitutionnel’s readership peaked around 1830. Maria Adamowicz-Hariasz, “From Opinion to Information: The Roman-Feuilleton and the Transformation of the Nineteenth-Century Press,” Making the News: Modernity and the Mass Press in Nineteenth-Century France, edited by Dean de la Motte and Jeannene M. Przyblyski (Amherst: University of Massachusetts Press, 1999), 168; Rader, 19; Eugène Hatin, Bibliographie historique et critique de la presse périodique française (Paris: Firmin-Didot frères, fils, 1866), 327. 91 Le Pianiste an 1, 159. Found in Le Pianiste’s box, impromptu poem inspired by the advertisement placed in Le Constitutionnel of 11 July 1834. 58

There is some truth to the poem: while subscription lists do not exist for these years, Heinrich

Probst wrote in a letter that “everyone is against the [Gazette musicale]” and that it was near closing for lack of subscribers.92

The Gazette, for its part, did not accept Le Pianiste’s negative press silently, and engaged in its own offensive and defensive actions. In one instance, the Gazette accused Le Pianiste of plagiarism. In a note in the Gazette’s issue of 22 March 1835, it noted, “What punishment would you want to inflict upon Le Pianiste, who gives the articles signed [A.] Jal, as though he acquired them, but which are drawn from l’Impartial.”93 Le Pianiste explained itself in response, and said that the article in question was taken from l’Europe Littéraire, a journal that had ceased printing, and that the editors did not know it had ever been in l’Impartial. The accusation seems to have rankled Lemoine and Chaulieu. “The Gazette musicale cannot accuse us of having stolen it,” they replied.94 Reprinting articles was a normal practice at the time, but in this case, Le Pianiste strayed from the custom by omitting the source.

Schlesinger probably had fewer options for professional retaliation which make the actions he did take all the more creative and astonishing: since he was a publisher of Lemoine and Chaulieu’s music, he could not discredit it in the Gazette because if he were known to publicly insult his own composers he would risk losing future business. Instead, he used his power as Chaulieu’s publisher to exert control over him in another way — by purposely

92 Breitkopf und Härtel in Paris [Probst letters], 8. Letter dated 3 March 1834. 93 “Quelle punition voudra-t-on donc infliger au Pianiste, qui donne des articles signés Jal, etc., comme acquis par lui, et qui sont puisés dans l’Impartial.” Gazette musicale an 2/13 (29 March 1835), 100 [sic; 108]. 94 “Nous devons des remercîmens à la Gazette musicale qui nous annonce que l'article des Deux Portraits avait paru dans l'Impartial; nous l'ignorions. Nous l'avons exhumé de l'Europe littéraire, excellent journal qui a cessé de paraître depuis long-temps, et certes on nous saura gré de l'avoir remis au jour. Nous avons pris et nous prendrons toujours des articles spirituels où les trouverons; la Gazette musicale ne peut pas nous accuser de l'avoir volée.” Le Pianiste an 2, 90. 59 devaluing the price of one of Chaulieu’s works. Chaulieu published both his Caprice sur un thème de ‘Ludovic’ (op. 152) and his Caprice sur un thème du ‘Proscrit’ (op. 155) with

Schlesinger and they were similar in length and released on the same day. The Caprice sur un thème de ‘Ludovic’ sold for 5F, a normal price, and the other was purposely and significantly devalued and priced at 1F. This was intended as an insult, and Chaulieu understood it as such. Le

Pianiste discussed this matter of pricing, formatted as a discussion between two people. The first person introduces the subject, and the second does not see the connection, so the first replies:

Well sir, two pieces by the same author, which appear on the same day, which have the same scope, and which are published by the same editor, and one of which sells for 5 fr. and the other. . . —The other. . . —1 fr., yes monsieur, 1 fr. and you don’t find that amazing? —My word, I had not seen it, but on the other hand I think the merchant is free to sell his merchandise at a price that suits him. —But, monsieur, 1 fr. and 5 fr! there is therefore one of the two that is four times better than the other? —My friend, you will find M. Sch[lesinger]..., may be a man of spirit, since he sells a gazette, and that will explain it to you [emphasis original].95

Appearing in Le Pianiste, this conversation would serve to explain to the public that the discrepancy was personal and did not reflect the value of Chaulieu’s music. Chaulieu did not publish any music with Schlesinger after this incident.

It seems rather puzzling that Schlesinger was willing to lose money in sales just to embarrass Chaulieu, but this incident shows the lengths to which one could go to ruin an enemy.

From a certain standpoint, however, this loss of income was small compared to what Schlesinger might risk by a more public display of spite. This notable exchange reinforces the fact that exercising power in one area of musical life might lead to an undesirable reaction in another, or

95 “Eh bien, monsieur, deux morceaux du même auteur, qui paraissent le même jour, qui ont la même étendue, qui sont publiés par le même éditeur, et dont l’un se vend 5 fr. et l’autre... — L’autre... — 1 franc, oui monsieur, 1 fr. et vous ne trouvez pas cela étonnant? — Ma foi, je le n’avais pas vu; mais d’ailleurs je pense qu’un marchand est le maître de vendre sa marchandise au prix qu’il lui convient d’y fixer. —Mais, monsieur, 1 fr. et 5 fr.! il y a en donc un des deux qui vaut quatre fois mieux que l’autre? — Mon ami, va trouver M. Sch[lesinger]..., c’est peut-être un homme d’esprit, puisqu’il vend une gazette, il t’expliquera cela.” Le Pianiste an 1, 182. 60 in this case, that acting as a whistleblower by exposing perceived bias might undermine one’s own compositional career. Journalistic activities did not result in equal and opposite reactions, and for someone who was composer, critic, and publishing partner, like Chaulieu, it was an especially messy business.

As Le Pianiste was about to cease publication at the end of October 1835, the Revue musicale, a paper that in May 1834 had said that the Gazette was full of “anachronisms, platitudes, blunders, rudimentary insults for artists,” and general “idiocy,” had agreed to fold into the Gazette, as Le Dilettante had done nearly two years before.96 The paper was renamed the

Revue et Gazette musicale de Paris, Schlesinger remained owner, and Fétis, the owner of the

Revue musicale, joined the large editorial board. The merger made the Revue et Gazette musicale the largest musical paper in Paris.97 In the triumphant announcement of the merger, the Gazette also announced that Le Pianiste was closing and called it, “our unknown enemy,” a reference to the fact that one of its contributors had been asking for Le Pianiste to name its owner in print.98

The Gazette stated that Le Pianiste’s “insults were not the least bit concerning to us,” though

Schlesinger’s and the Gazette’s behavior indicates otherwise.99 The fall of the Gazette’s main rival and the merger with another was a clear political victory for Schlesinger: while the Gazette survived, Le Pianiste did not. The schemes of which Schlesinger was accused did not seem to harm him, and in fact, may have aided in his journal’s survival.

______

96 “Anachronismes, platitudes, bévues, insultes grossières aux artistes. [...] bêtise [...]” Revue musicale (25 May 1834), 168. 97 As stated, Le Ménéstrel was little more than a piece of sheet music with two pages of commentary. 98 Gazette musicale, an 2/44 (1 November 1835), 353. “[...] notre ennemi inconnu [...]” The adjective “unknown” here refers to the fact that publicly, the Gazette had asked for the owner of Le Pianiste to name himself in print. The request was denied. 99 Ibid. “[...] la colère incognito était peu inquiétante pour nous [...]” 61

The way the press was made is integral to its meaning, and ignoring the business of the press leads to misinterpretation of its contents. Le Pianiste shows many ways in which a given article would have been written with the full weight of innumerable considerations in mind, and exposes a number of creative ways in which the press functioned as a form of power and how involvement in journalism could affect one’s whole career. Getting at the specific influences behind a piece of writing can only be done by investigating the author’s unique relationships and position in life (as well as those of the subject and the editor). But looking at journalism as a function of power makes it possible to draw upon general patterns. For instance, we understand better that a publisher who owned a journal would use it in a different way than would a composer who wrote for that journal: the former would be interested in his catalogue, while the latter would be interested in his own career.

The malleability of the press becomes all the more problematic when we consider journalism’s potential effects on the reputations of musicians, especially in the age when the idea of the canon was beginning to form. Does a positive review mean that a piece was beloved or just that the article was written by its publisher? Does the fact that a musician was unpopular mean that his music was deplored or just that he was a cantankerous person who tended to make enemies out of critics? Answering these questions will require much further research into the press, as well as publishing, society, and audiences, not to mention taste and aesthetics. But for the time being, foregrounding the various practices that make up the business of the press provides an entry point into understanding the cultural system of the French music journalism in a more accurate and meaningful way. 62

The next chapters will analyze the criticism in Le Pianiste in light of the business practices outlined here. The first of these chapters will focus on Le Pianiste’s unusual emphasis on a particular group of musicians from the past, and will seek to explain what it reveals about the authors of Le Pianiste and the cultural environment in which this criticism was written. This discussion not only provides new information about reception history and canon formation in the

1830s, but also helps to reconstruct musical activity and taste in France in the first two decades of the century. 63

Chapter 2: Perruques and Fathers: Le Pianiste’s Early History of the Piano

The opening article of Le Pianiste presents an interpretive problem. Typically, the lead article in the first issue of a nineteenth-century music journal featured an important musical figure, intended to set the tone for, or represent, the aesthetic stance of the journal. For example, the Gazette musicale (1834), a more progressive, romantic journal, opened with an article on

Beethoven, and the Revue musicale (1827), a more conservative journal, began with Mozart. By the standard set by its contemporaries, Le Pianiste’s opening article on Muzio Clementi seems puzzling. The value of Beethoven and Mozart’s music needs little explanation — many of the arguments found in those journals supporting Mozart and Beethoven are familiar because they were repeated throughout the century and helped to mold our modern perceptions of this music.

The value or meaning of Clementi’s music, on the other hand, is elusive to us. Even from the point of view of 1830s Paris, there is something asynchronous about this choice: Clementi was not popular by that time and articles about him are difficult to find in the contemporary French press outside of Le Pianiste.

Placing Clementi at the start of Le Pianiste, however, was not emblematic of a dominant aesthetic stance, but was part of a larger strategy by its authors to reclaim the importance of a specific group of musicians, Muzio Clementi, Johann-Baptiste Cramer, Daniel Steibelt, and Jan

Ladislav Dussek, and to preserve their legacies in the public imagination. The journal did not believe that these four musicians, whom it called the “fathers of piano,” were superior to all others; rather, the group was singled out because these men were a part of what the authors thought was a French piano history fading amid a rising interest in Beethoven. The writing on 64 the “fathers of piano” was a part of a very early effort to counteract what was then the encroaching crystallization and agreement about who were the important musical figures, or what we now understand to be the beginnings of the formation of the canon. This chapter will analyze Le Pianiste’s writing on the “fathers of piano,” or the “old French” masters, and its writing on Hummel and Beethoven, or the “new German” masters. In addition to providing new information about French pianism in both the 1830s and two decades earlier, these articles reveal the conflicting relationships between Le Pianiste’s authors, their younger readership, and the older musicians of the past. Understanding these forces also provides new insight into some of the factors that influenced the formation of the musical canon in the nineteenth century, and what was lost as it was formed.

Background and Context

Centrally important to understanding Le Pianiste is the fact that its two authors, Lemoine and Chaulieu, had grown up together and studied at the Conservatoire with the famous piano pedagogue, Louis Adam. Because of this shared formational training, Le Pianiste was in part an organ for Lemoine and Chaulieu and the legacy of the Paris Conservatoire that they embodied.

As stated previously, Lemoine and Chaulieu were part of a pianistic school that also included

Frédéric Kalkbrenner and Ferdinand Hérold. This quartet of pianists, Kalkbrenner, Hérold,

Chaulieu, and Lemoine represent the most famous of Louis Adam’s students who were at one time the most promising of the modern French pianoforte school.1 In the mid-1830s,

Kalkbrenner’s international renown was symbolic of this school’s strength in France. Young

1 See for instance Karl Friedrich Weitzmann, A History of Pianoforte-Playing and Pianoforte-Literature (New York: Schirmer, 1894), 149–50. 65

Chopin, for instance, came to Paris in 1831 and was eager to meet Kalkbrenner above all other pianists.2 Lemoine and Chaulieu, likewise, were enjoying what was probably the height of their careers.

Despite this success, however, the writing in Le Pianiste exhibits unease, especially surrounding a new attitude among the younger generation, invoked by the use of the popular insult perruque, or periwig. As slang, no stable definition exists, but the term was used against older people to mean that someone was out of touch, stuffy, or desiccated.3 The word can be found in writing of the time: for instance, in Balzac’s Illusions perdues, Etienne Lousteau tells

Lucien, the hero, “Be a romantic. The romantics are all young men, and the classicists are all old perruques...”4 Berlioz, more elegant than Balzac’s Lousteau, described his hypothetical perruque: “I imagined some old pedant with spectacles, a reddish wig, and huge snuff-box, always mounted on his hobby of fugue and counterpoint, talking of nothing but Bach and

Marpurg; outwardly polite, perhaps, but at bottom, hating all modern music in general and mine in particular; in a word, an old musical curmudgeon.”5 The epithet can also be found in Hugo,

Stendhal, and others.6

The idea that this word represented was problematic for the authors of Le Pianiste because it implied a disregard for the past altogether that was contrary to their view and, they

2 See for instance a letter Chopin wrote dated 12 December 1831: “You will not believe how curious I was about Herz, Liszt, Hiller, etc. — They are all zero beside Kalkbrenner.” Chopin’s Letters, edited and translated by E.L. Voynich (1931; reprint, New York: Dover Publications, 1988), 154. 3 The Dictionnaire de l’Académie française 6th edition from 1832–5 defines a perruque as “un vieillard de peu d'esprit, et qui tient opiniâtrement à d'anciens préjugés.” Available online at 4 Honoré de Balzac, Lost Illusions (Illusions perdues), translated by Kathleen Raine (New York: The Modern Library, 1951), 251. 5 Hector Berlioz, Memoirs, edited and revised translation by Ernest Newman (New York: Dover, 1966), 256. 6 Victor Hugo, Les Misérables, quatrième partie, ‘L’idylle rue Plumet et l’épopée rue Saint-Denis’ (New York: William R. Jenkins [éditeur et libraire français], 1887), 320; Stendhal, Promenades dans Rome (Paris: Delaunay, 1829), 323. 66 believed, detrimental to the future of music. Lemoine and Chaulieu thought that an understanding of the past was the key to a good future. It was how they and their peers had developed their craft (to great success) and it created a link between generations, essential for

“the march of progress of art.”7 Their schoolmate Kalkbrenner exhibited this belief when he famously told Chopin, “[You] cannot build up a new school without knowing the old one.”8 It is unclear whether the insult would have been launched at Lemoine or Chaulieu; they sometimes used the idea themselves, for instance, arguing against a perruque-type, a “stern and morose critic,” and criticizing a work of Czerny for writing in a “perruque genre.”9 In any case, Lemoine and Chaulieu’s defensive stance was not primarily focused on their own reputations, but rather on preserving the legacies of musicians older than them. Le Pianiste was founded with this goal in mind.

The journal’s prospectus included a promise to “make students understand that the works of the Fathers of Piano, the Clementis, the Dusseks, the Steibelts, the Cramers, the Mozarts, are everlasting despite the changes of fashion in musical forms, and will be worthy of all our admiration for years to come.”10 As the journal progressed through its first year, it became more powerful and in a better position to influence the public. Yet, other journals began printing more youthful manifestos insulting tradition and the recent past, which escalated the tension between

7 Prospectus of Le Pianiste (Vaugirard: J[ules]. Delacour, 1833). Available at the Bibliothèque nationale de France, V-10877. “[...] la marche des progrès de l’art.” 8 Chopin’s Letters, 155. 9 “[...] le critique sévère et morose [...]” Le Pianiste an 1, 82; “[...] genre que l’on nomme perruque.” Le Pianiste an 1, 125. 10 Prospectus of Le Pianiste. “[...] il [Le Pianiste] fera comprendre aux élèves que les ouvrages des Peres du Piano, des Clémenti, des Dussek, des Steibelt, des Cramer, des Mozart, sont encore, malgré les changemens que la mode a fait subit aux formes musicales, et seront long-temps dignes de toute notre admiration”. 67 the two modes of thought.11 Le Pianiste’s plan began as a moderate declaration about education in the prospectus but towards the end of the first year it had become a crusade. Chaulieu wrote in

August 1834, “We will continue [...] to fight against the irruptions of a disdainful opinion toward our predecessors.” And, invoking the French tragedians, “No! No! The Corneilles and the

Racines of piano are not perruques!”12

Adam and the Nationalistic Argument

While the youth were rejecting perruques, those who did have an interest in the musicians of the past were focusing most of their attention on Beethoven.13 Lemoine and

Chaulieu revered Beethoven as well, but he was not in danger of being forgotten as were their

“fathers of piano” and the entire world of Lemoine and Chaulieu’s youth. Lemoine described this world retrospectively as an insulated place, which could only be understood by what knowledge it lacked: “At this time, the school of L. Adam reigned in France and the best students of this skillful and respectable master shone, either in the salon, or in public, with the beautiful compositions of Dussek, Cramer, Clementi, and Steibelt; Hummel was not yet known,

Beethoven was not yet understood [emphasis original].”14 Hummel and Beethoven represented a

11 See for example, “École du chant,” in Le Ménéstrel an 1/2 (8 December 1833), 4; “La Critique et Henri Herz,” Gazette musicale an 1/13, 104+ or various contes in the Gazette musicale, like Hector Berlioz, “La Suicide par enthousiasme,” Gazette musicale an 1/29, 229+ or Jules Janin, “L’homme vert,” Gazette musicale an 1/50, 397+. 12 “Nous continuerons [...] de lutter contre les irruptions d’une opinion dédaigneuse pour nos prédécesseurs. Non, non, les Corneille et les Racine du piano ne sont pas des perruques! [emphasis original]” Le Pianiste an 1, 145. 13 It should be noted that Fétis and others were also promoting concerts historiques, but the past represented there was too old to include piano repertoire. For more information on concerts historiques see Katharine Ellis, Interpreting the Musical Past: Early Music in Nineteenth-Century France (Oxford and New York: Oxford University Press, 2005), 22–31. For more information on Beethoven reception in France see James H. Johnson, “Beethoven and the Birth of Romantic Musical Experience in France,” 19th-Century Music 15/1 (Summer 1991), 23–35; and Peter Bloom, “Critical Reaction to Beethoven in France: François-Joseph Fétis,” Revue belge de Musicologie / Belgisch Tijdschrift voor Muziekwetenschap 26/27 (1972/1973), 67–83. 14 “A cette époque, disons-nous, l’école de L. Adam régnait en France, et les meilleurs élèves de cet habile et respectable maître brillaient, soit au salon, soit en public, avec les belles compositions de Dussek, Cramer, Clémenti, et Steibelt; Hummel était à peine connu, Beethoven n’était pas encore compris.” Le Pianiste an 2, 60. 68

“new past” in France: while they were a part of the same generation and their careers overlapped with that of the “fathers of piano,” they were apparently unknown or misunderstood in France until sometime in the 1820s. Lemoine and Chaulieu believed that the new knowledge and interest in their work threatened to supersede the reputations of the “fathers of piano” who had been revered in France in the first two decades of the century.

Furthermore, Beethoven’s music did not represent French music, since he never even visited France. Le Pianiste believed that the four “fathers of piano,” Clementi, Cramer, Steibelt, and Dussek, constituted the French piano tradition, despite the fact that these men were not born in France. The journal explained that the “fathers of piano,” more than any other group, shaped the course of piano history in France during their prolonged visits to Paris: “These four grand artists came to France several times [...] During the various stays which they had in Paris, they exercised a large influence on the school of piano.”15 These musicians, in addition, had influenced Lemoine and Chaulieu’s professor, Louis Adam, who based his teaching method on their works. While studying with Adam, Lemoine and Chaulieu developed a deep reverence for the “fathers of piano” which was only reinforced by their idols’ later residences in Paris

(especially Steibelt during 1800–1802 and 1805–1808 and Dussek during 1807–1812).

15 “Ces quatre grands artistes sont venus en France à plusieurs époques [...] Pendant les différens séjours qu’ils firent à Paris, ils exercèrent une grande influence sur l’école de piano.” Le Pianiste an 1, 81. Muzio Clementi (1752– 1832), an Italian composer based in London for the majority of his life, never lived in Paris, though he held concerts there on tours, 1780–81, 1802, 1816, and travelled for business trips in 1820 and 1821. Johann-Baptiste Cramer (1771–1858), of German origin, lived in London from childhood. He visited Paris in 1788, publishing his first works there, and thereafter appeared from time to time in concert tours. Daniel Steibelt (1765–1823) was born in Berlin and moved to Paris by 1790, though he had visited Paris prior. After moving to London in 1796, he returned to Paris in 1800–1802, then again in 1805–1808 before being offered a position in the Russian court. He moved to Russia in 1809 and remained there until his death. At his stays in Paris Lemoine and Chaulieu attended his concerts and his salon. Jan Dussek (1760–1812) spent the most time in Paris among these four. Dussek lived in Paris for a few years prior to the Revolution before escaping to London, and returned to Paris in 1807 and remained there until his death in 1812. Chaulieu performed for him at least once. 69

Adam published two piano methods, and both exhibit the heavy influence of Clementi,

Cramer, Steibelt, and Dussek. The first Méthode was published in 1798 and co-authored by

Ludwig Wenzel Lachnith (1746–1820).16 Adam’s second method was published by 1804 and was adopted for official use by the Conservatoire that same year.17 Both methods begin with finger exercises and scales, and then include a section of excerpts from piano works. Out of 269 excerpts from the 1798 Méthode, 25% are Dussek, 23% are Steibelt, 15% are Clementi, and 12% are Cramer. The remaining 25% are Adam, Mozart, Kozeluch, Pleyel, Haydn, and Sarti.18 The

1804 Méthode is less focused on just four people but features a higher percentage of Cramer excerpts: out of the 80 excerpts, 30% are Cramer, 18% are Dussek, 11% are Steibelt, and the remaining 41% include Adam, Mozart, Beethoven, and Haydn.19 There are no Clementi excerpts in the 1804 Méthode, but his music can be found in three full-length movements in a section that did not appear in the previous version. A tallying of the works found in the published Méthodes does not show exactly what lessons were like in person, but it shows an emphasis on what

Lemoine and Chaulieu later called the “fathers of piano.” Lemoine and Chaulieu fill out more detail of their training throughout Le Pianiste.

16 Louis Adam and Ludwig Wenzel Lachnith, Méthode, ou, Principe général du doigté pour le fortépiano, suivie d'une collection complette de tous les traits possibles avec le doigté, en commençant par les plus aisés jusqu'aux plus difficiles: terminée par un dictionnaire de passages aussi doigtés tirés des auteurs les plus célèbres (Paris: Sieber, 1798). 17 Fétis claims that Adam first published an updated method called Méthode nouvelle in 1802, but I have not been able to find a copy of it. The BNF holds copies of Louis Adam’s Méthode published in 1804 by L. Marchand. This or an earlier version was adopted for Conservatoire use on 16 germinal an XII (6 April 1804) and was reprinted in 1805 as Méthode de Piano du Conservatoire published by the official Conservatoire publisher. The proceedings cited in the 1805 edition speak about a work they are consulting to make their decision, which may be the 1804 version if it was printed in the first few months of the year, or the earlier version to which Fétis refers. This 1805 edition is commonly available as a Minkoff reprint. Louis Adam, Méthode de Piano du Conservatoire (1805; reprint, Geneva: Minkoff Reprint, 1974). 18 The number of excerpts are as follows: 66 excerpts by Dussek, 61 by Steibelt, 40 by Clementi, 32 by Cramer, 20 by Adam, 15 by Jean-David Hermann, 14 by Mozart, 8 by Leopold Kozeluch, 5 by Ignace Pleyel, 3 by Haydn. 19 Méthode 1804/1805: 24 excerpts by Cramer, 14 by Dussek, 14 by Adam, 10 by Mozart, 9 by Steibelt, 6 by Beethoven, 3 by Haydn. 70

For instance, Lemoine and Chaulieu wrote that each of these musicians had different qualities that, when combined, would make a perfect pianist: “They each possessed, in different proportions, the high qualities of a grand pianist and of a grand composer.”20 Dussek was humble, “mellow and graceful,” his playing was “as beautiful to see as delightful to hear;”

Steibelt was “witty” and clever; Clementi was “brilliant and light;” Cramer was “remarkably elegant” and his writing was “correct.”21 These were the qualities therefore, that Lemoine and

Chaulieu believed made an ideal pianist: One that could perform many types of music, move people with subtlety and finesse, be sometimes deep and introspective and at other times be dazzling and exciting, and not develop an ego no matter how famous they became, a lesson hammered out when comparing Steibelt and Dussek, discussed below.

The proof that Adam’s teaching worked lay in the fact that Lemoine and Chaulieu and the rest of Adam’s class were successful both during school and after. The journal pointed out that during the first decade of the century, Adam’s students won nearly every premiers prix at the yearly competition: Chaulieu, Lemoine, Kalkbrenner, and Hérold, as well as Paul-Cécile

Merland, Charles-Pierre Lambert, and Arnold Meysenberg were among the winners.22 While they were students, Adam’s method was officially adopted by the Conservatoire to be its school- wide method for piano, so the Conservatoire endorsed his methods as well. The formal proceedings reprinted in the book’s preface note that “the attentive students who follow the path

20 “Ils possédaient tous quatre, dans les proportions différentes, les hautes qualités du grand pianiste et du grand compositeur.” Le Pianiste an 1, 81. 21 “[...] brillant et léger Clementi, du suave et gracieux Dussek, et de Cramer, si correct dans ses écrits.” and “[...] le célèbre Dussek, si suave sans mollesse, si instruit sans pédanterie, et dont l’exécution était, pour ainsi dire, aussi belle à voir que délicieuse à entendre.” Le Pianiste an 1, 145; “sa [Cramer] musique, comme autrefois, est d’une correction et d’une élégance remarquables.” Le Pianiste an 1, 41; “[...] le spirituel Steibelt.” Le Pianiste an 1, 50. 22 Le Pianiste an 1, 114; Adam students’ prizes: Kalkbrenner (1801), Chaulieu (1806), Merland (1807), Lambert, Meysenberg, and Lemoine (1809), Hérold (1810). The only winning students in this decade who were not Adam students were Pierre Zimmerman in 1800 and Théodore-Louis Chaucourtois in 1805. The other years did not have winners. Constant Pierre, Le Conservatoire nationale de musique et de déclamation (Paris, 1900), 585. 71 that M. Adam traces for them, will easily avoid the pitfalls that stop or that slow the course of progress, and they will quickly arrive at that perfection of execution that contains the inseparable qualities of good style and delicate taste.”23 The real strength of Adam’s method, as Le Pianiste explained it, was that by uniting these grand artists in a unified theory, students never learned poor or weak pieces. Therefore, “in this fashion, and without having yet studied the rules of art, the young pianists coming out of his class appreciated, without realizing it, the quality of the pieces that they were called upon to perform.”24 Lemoine and Chaulieu believed that their success was attributable to the everlasting quality of the piano training they had received, and wished to extend an appreciation of this training and the music on which it was based to the next generation through their writing in Le Pianiste.25

Le Pianiste and the Past

Before discussing Lemoine and Chaulieu’s writing on both the “fathers of piano” and

Hummel and Beethoven, it is important to illustrate how they saw their own place in history. In

Le Pianiste, pianism as an art form was traced back to its roots in harpsichord and organ playing through composer-performers, much as one would trace a genealogy. The opening statement in

Le Pianiste is striking for its detailed simplicity. Before its first article on Clementi, one finds an elaborate list of important pianists. Le Pianiste seems to declare with this list that pianism is not

23 “Les élèves attentifs qui suivront la route que M. Adam leur trace, éviteront facilement les éceuils qui arrêtent ou qui retardent la marche des progrès, et ils arriveront rapidement à cette perfection d’exécution qui se reconnoit aux qualités inséparables d’un bon style et d’un goût délicat.” speech by Étienne Méhul printed in Louis Adam, Méthode de Piano du Conservatoire (1805), i. 24 “De cette façon, et sans avoir encore étudié les règles de l’art, les jeunes pianistes qui sortaient de sa classe, appréciaient, sans pouvoir encore s’en rendre compte, la qualité des morceaux qu’ils étaient appelés à exécuter.” Le Pianiste an 1, 114. 25 For an example of how the reputation of Adam’s student’s lasted later in the century, see Karl Friedrich Weitzmann, A History of Pianoforte-Playing and Pianoforte-Literature (New York: Schirmer, 1894), 149–50. 72 found in scores or tomes or books, but with pianists themselves, and that to know the history of the piano, one need only understand something about the people who took part in it.

Furthermore, the list makes explicit that pianists are connected, and that knowledge is passed down from one generation to the next, because the list is divided into eras separated by pianists’ years of birth (See Table 2.1). It begins with a pre-piano era called “Origine” composed of the Bach family, Handel, and Scarlatti. This is followed by four piano eras. The first is small, with just six members: Clementi, Nicolas Sejan, Leopold Kozeluk, Mozart, Ignace Joseph

Pleyel, and Haydn. The second, third, and fourth piano eras are large. The deuxième époque represents roughly the generation born in the 1760s, or the generation of Lemoine and Chaulieu’s teachers. The troisième époque represents the generation of the 1780s, or Lemoine and Chaulieu and their peers. The quatrième époque represents the generation born in the 1800s, who were

Lemoine and Chaulieu’s students and the new generation coming of age in the 1830s. The list was meant to be inclusive, and after receiving letters about the pianists they omitted, Lemoine and Chaulieu published a supplement (See Table 2.2). The list is fascinatingly detailed, and includes a great number of pianists who are unknown today, including numerous female pianists.

There are also some glaring omissions: for instance, while a 14-year-old Clara Wieck appeared on the supplement, a 23-year-old Robert Schumann is not on either list.

Moreover, the organization of Le Pianiste’s piano list suggests something integral to

Lemoine and Chaulieu’s conception about their place in history. The eras’ relative size — the second, third, and fourth being substantially larger than the first — show the extent of Lemoine and Chaulieu’s expertise and defines its chronological duration. In this way, it appears that either consciously or subconsciously, Lemoine and Chaulieu placed themselves in the middle of two 73 extremes: they were in the third era, writing a history for the fourth era, and working to save the reputation of important musicians in the second.

The following is an analysis of the writing about the musical past in Le Pianiste, including both the “fathers of piano” and the “new German” masters. Each pianist, except

Cramer, explained below, received a “Notice” in the journal, a substantial lead article of an issue.

These “Notices” are both histories and justifications, an assortment of collected thoughts about style, meaning, repertoire, and biography. Lemoine and Chaulieu’s ideas are sometimes random and disconnected, but since their journal was limited by page count, the ideas they printed are also the ones most important and meaningful to them. These articles comprise what Lemoine and

Chaulieu knew and what they had experienced, but also what they thought an 1830s audience would want or need to know. For the “fathers of piano,” their focus was especially about what a contemporary audience would need to understand to respect them. These are individual stories, but they make up a larger whole, a series of constellations in two colliding worlds: the old

French world and the new German one. 74

Table 2.1: “Chronologie des Pianistes” from Le Pianiste an 1 (20 November 1833), 1–2.

ORIGINE. ORGUE, CLAVECIN.

1684 G. F. HAENDEL. Mort en 1759 1685 J. SÉBASTIEN BACH.! 1750 1710 J. [Wilhelm] F. BACH. 1784 1714 Ch. P. Emmanuel BACH. 1788 1718 [sic] [Domenico] SCARLATTI. 1776 [sic] 1732 J. C. Frédéric BACH. 17... [95] 1735 J. Chrétien BACH. 1782

PIANO Première Époque

1746 M[uzio] CLEMENTI, né à Rome. Mort en 1832 1750 [sic] [Nicolas] SEJAN.! 1824 1753 [sic] [Leopold] KOZELUK (Bohême). [1818] 1756 W. A. MOZART (Salzbourg). 1792 [sic] 1757 J[oseph] PLEYEL (Autriche). 18...[31] 1732 HAYDN (Autriche).! 1810 [sic]

Deuxième Époque

[1758] L[ouis] ADAM. [1848]! 1770 BEETHOWEN. 1827 [1775] [François-Adrien] BOYELDIEU. [1834] [1785] [Alexandre] BOELY.! [1858] [1771] J[ohann] B[aptiste] CRAMER. [1858] 1760 J[an] L. DUSSEK.! 1812 [1775] [Charles-François] DUMONCHAU.! [1821] [1780] [Victor] DOURLEN. [1864] [1772] [Jean-Baptiste] DÉSORMERY. [after 1813] [1782] G[ustave] DUGAZON. [1826] [1782] J[ohn] FIELD. [1837] [1758] L’Abbé [Josef] GELINECK. [1825] [1778] J[ohann] N[epomuk] HUMMEL.! [1837] [1765] [Friedrich Heinrich] HIMMEL.! [1814] [1756] [Nicolas-Joseph] HULLEMANDEL. [1823] [1760]! [Jean-David] HERMANN. [1846] [1796] [Henri] HERDLISKA. [1821] [1776] [Hyacinthe] JADIN. [1800]! [1784] H[enri] KARR.! [1783] [August Alexander] KLENGEL. [1852] [1766] [Ignace Antoine] LADURNER. [1839]! [1770] [N] LÉTENDART.! [c.1820] [c.1766] [Jean] LATOUR. [1837] 75

G. LEMOINE. [1787] [Marcus] LEIDESDORF. [1840] [1767] [Joseph-Nicolas] MEREAUX. [1838] [1778] [Henri] MESSMAEKERS. [1776] [Benoit-François] MOZIN. [François] MEZGER. [c. 1808] [1770] [probably Charles-Guillaume] MULLER. [1819] [1762] [Jérôme-Joseph de] MOMIGNY. [1842] [1764] Mme [Hélène] DE MONTGEROULT. [1836] [Valentin] NICOLAŸ. [1798] [1778] [Sigismund] NEWKOMM. [Neukomm] [1858] [1787] [Hieronymous] PAYER. [1845] [1765] [Philippe-Jacques] PFEFFINGER. [1821] [1759] [Amédée] RASETTI. [1799] [1770] [Henri-Jean] RIGEL. [1852] [1764] [Gottfried] RIEGER. [1855] [1784] [Ferdinand] RIES. [1838] 1756 [sic] D[aniel] STEIBELT. 1823 [1779] [Henri-Joseph] TASKIN. [1837] [Louis] WEISCOPFF. [Weiskopf] [1761] [Bernard] VIGUERIE. [1819] [1773] [Joseph] WOELFL. [1812]

Troisième Époque (Nés avant 1800.)

[1799] [Louis] ANCOT. [1829] A. ANSON. [1780] [Auguste] BERTINI aîné. [1843] [1798] H[enri] BERTINI jeune. [1876] [1794] [François] BENOIST. [1878] [1786] Me [Marie] BIGOT. [1820] [1785] [Conrad] BERG. [1846] [1790] [Félix] CAZOT. [1857] [1791] CH[arles (Carl)] CZERNI. [1857] [1792] [Réné] CORNU. [1832] [1788] CH[arles] CHAULIEU. [1849] [1795] [Jean-Michel] DROLING. [Dreling] [1804] [Alexandre-Charles] FESSY. [1856] [1784] [François-Joseph] FÉTIS. [1871] Me [Augustine] DE GRAMMONT, née RENAUD D’ALLEN. W. HUNTEN. [1793] FR[anz] HUNTEN. [1878] 76

[1794] J[acob-Simon] HERZ. [1880] 1791 FERD[inand] HÉROLD. 1833 [1785] FR[édéric] KALKBRENNER. [1849] [1786] [Friedrich] KULAU. 1832 [1786] H[enry] LEMOINE. [1854] [1791]! [Charles-Pierre] LAMBERT. [1865] [L] LEVASSEUR. [1783] [François-Charles] MANSUI. [1847] [1797] [Louis] MARESSE. [1794] [Ignaz] MOCHELÈS. [1870] [Ant] MOKER. [Mocker] [1788] [Arnold] MEISENBERG. [Meysenberg] [1784] G[eorge] ONSLOW. [1853] [1788] C[amille] PLEYEL. [1855] [1800] C[amille-Joseph] PETIT. [1782] [Louis-Barthélémy] PRADHER. [1843] [1788] [Johann-Peter] PIXIS. [1874] [Auguste] PILATI. [1798] [probably Carl Gottlieb] REISSIGER. [1859] [1798] [Charles-Laurent] RHEIN. [1864] [1805]! [Albert] SOWINSKY. [1880] [1784] [Louis] SPOHR. [1859] [1797] [Charles] SCHWENCKE. [1786] L[ouis-Nicholas] SEJEAN. [1849] [Louis] SCHLOESSER. [1785] [Jean-Madeleine-Marie] SCHNEITZHOEFFER. [1852] [1786] CH[arles (Carl)] M[aria von] WEBER. [1826] [1783] [Joseph-Bernard] WOETZ. [1878] [1785] [Pierre] ZIMMERMAN. [1853]

Quatrième Époque (Nés depuis 1800.)

[1803] A[dolphe] ADAM. [1856] [A] AULAGNIER. [1813] [Valentin] ALKAN. [1888] [1803] N[icolas] BACH. [1802] Mlle [Elisa] BERLOT. [1810] FR[édéric] CHOPIN. [1849] [1806] ER[nest] DÉJAZET. [1802] [Jean-Baptiste] DUVERNOY. [1800] Mme DUVERGER, née MOREL. [1874] [1798] [Louis-Constant] ERMEL. [1871] 77 78

Table 2.2: “Première Supplément à la Chronologie des Pianistes-Compositeurs” from Le Pianiste an 1, (20 January 1834), 33. PREMIÈRE SUPPLÉMENT

À LA CHRONOLOGIE

des Pianistes-Compositeurs

AUVRAY. Mlle [Leopoldine] BLAHETKA. [1809-1885] FR[iedrich]. BURGMULIER. [1806-1874] H. BROVELLIO. J[oseph]. CZERNY. [1785-1842] G[ustave]. CARULLI. L. CHOLLET. GRIFFIN. L. GOMION. HAUSSMANN. Mlle. HAUSSMANN. TH. HOWELS. [Friedrich] KUHLAU. [1786-1832] [Jan] KALLIWODA. [1801-1866] KRESTCHMER. [Pierre-Martin-Nicolas] LECHOPIÉ. LOUIS. LAGOANERE. [Joseph] MAZZINGHI. [1765-1844] MONTFORT. Mlle. MAZEL. A. ORLOWSKY. POLLET. Mme CAMILLE PLEYEL, NÉE MOCKE. [1811-1875] AMÉDÉE RAOUL. ROSSELLEN. EUG. SAVART. ALOYS SCHMITT. [1788-1866] SCHILLING. [Franz] SCHUBERT. [1797-1828] [David] SCHLESINGER. [1802- ] SYSTERMANS. Mlle. CLARA WIECK. [1819-1896]

The “Fathers of Piano”

MUZIO CLEMENTI

First and foremost among Le Pianiste’s “fathers of piano” was Clementi (1752–1832), whose portrait was chosen to be the frontispiece of the journal, and who was the subject of the 79 first article. The article was one part of a three-part series outlining the state of the piano as a declarative opening statement: Clementi represented music of the past; Kalkbrenner, the music of the present; and Chopin, the music of the future. Clementi, an Italian pianist who spent the majority of his life in England, never lived in Paris though he did travel there throughout his life for concerts and other business; his most significant visits were probably 1780, 1802, and 1816.26

Clementi was placed at the head of the journal because, just as it is stated on his tombstone, he was the “father of the piano,” not, as Katharine Ellis has suggested, the “God of piano.”27 This is an important distinction because whereas a god represents perfection, a father figure is someone to emulate but eventually surpass — not the pinnacle of art. Le Pianiste’s reasoning, like others, rests on his op. 2 sonatas, but in an odd justification, they say that he anticipated or foretold piano style on the harpsichord in that work: “Never had the harpsichord inspired such a sweet singing melody!”28

The article was meant to serve as a primer and outline the most important things anyone should know about Clementi. But since it was the journal’s first, it is also the least substantial among the “fathers of piano,” as Lemoine and Chaulieu had not yet settled upon the level of detail characteristic of later issues. In any case, the works with which any student should be familiar were listed as a practical matter for the journal’s readers. Opuses 2, 7, 11 and 12 remained the best for exercising one’s fingers, it claimed, and noted, “if these sonatas have aged

26 For more information on Clementi’s life and works, see Leon Plantinga, Clementi, his Life and Music (London and New York: Oxford University Press, 1977); and Rohan H. Stewart-MacDonald, New Perspectives on the Keyboard Sonatas of Muzio Clementi (Bologna: Ut Orpheus Edizioni, 2006; Quaderni Clementiani, 2). 27 “Le célèbre Clementi peut être surnommé le père du Piano.” Le Pianiste an 1, 3. Katharine Ellis, Music Criticism in Nineteenth-Century France: ‘La Revue et Gazette musicale de Paris,’ 1834–1880 (Cambridge, UK: Cambridge University Press, 1995), 47. 28 “Jamais le clavecin ne put inspirer un chant aussi suave!” Le Pianiste an 1, 5. Later generations came to believe that this was the first work written for the piano. This was disproven in 1977 by Leon Plantinga, Clementi, his Life and Music (London and New York: Oxford University Press, 1977), 286–295. 80 in form, they are nevertheless very pleasant, and excellent for study.”29 The article continued,

“Clementi’s real talent seems to have developed only toward his opuses 25 and 26, where science begins to join with the merit of the lines.”30 Those works, along with opuses 33 and 44 were listed as his masterpieces.31 A pianist who had not played these works, the article stated, left a prominent hole in his musical education.

Clementi was noted for his teaching, and his best students were listed in the article: John

Field, Alexander Klengel, and most important, Johann-Baptiste Cramer. This pianistic genealogy, much like the complete list that opened the journal, was offered as proof of Clementi’s obvious and enduring legacy as a performer, as a teacher, and as a composer, and it was meant to be understood that his students “ha[d] perpetuated his glory.”32 His reputation as a master composer was cemented further by the report that prior to 1801, when pianists participating in the yearly concours at the Conservatoire were allowed to choose the work they would perform, it was forbidden to play the third sonata in C Major of Clementi’s op. 33, because whoever performed it was nearly guaranteed to win.33 Surely Le Pianiste expected its readers to be captivated by the idea that a single piece would guarantee a person first prize.

29 “Les œuvres 2, 7, 11 et 12 sont encore les meilleurs ouvrages pour exercer les doigts [...] si ces sonates ont vieilli par la forme, elles n’en sont pas moins très agréables, et excellentes pour l’étude.” Le Pianiste an 1, 3. Muzio Clementi, opus 2, Six Sonatas for the Pianoforte or Harpischord, 1799; opus 7, Three Sonatas for the Harpischord or the Pianoforte, 1782; opus 11, A Sonata for the Pianoforte and a famous Toccata for the Harpsichord or Pianoforte, 1784; opus 12, Four Sonatas for the Pianoforte and A Duet for Two Pianofortes, 1784. 30 “Le véritable talent de Clementi semble ne s’être développé que vers ses œuvres 25 et 26, où la science commence à se joindre au mérite des traits.” Le Pianiste an 1, 3. Muzio Clementi, op. 25, Six Sonatas for the Pianoforte, 1790; op. 26, Sonata for the Pianoforte or Harpsichord, 1791. 31 Le Pianiste an 1, 3. “Ceux-là sont des chefs-d’œuvre, ainsi que les œuvres 33 et 42 [44]”. The article says op. 42, but I believe by that the author mean op. 44, Gradus ad parnassum, because in a later article the journal mistakenly identified Gradus as op. 42. See Le Pianiste an 1, 81. Muzio Clementi, op. 33, Three Sonatas for the Pianoforte with Accompaniments for a Flute and Violincello ‘ad Libitum’, 1794; op. 44, Gradus ad Parnassum or the Art of Playing the Pianoforte, 1817–26. 32 “[...] ont perpetué sa gloire comme pianiste, comme professeur et comme compositeur.” Le Pianiste an 1, 3. 33 Le Pianiste an 1, 3; and Le Pianiste an 1, 114; Muzio Clementi, op. 33. 81

JOHANN-BAPTISTE CRAMER

! Cramer (1771–1858) was the only one of Le Pianiste’s “fathers of piano” still to be living, earning him the moniker, the “Last of the Romans.”34 Le Pianiste lamented further, “Alas! they are no more, his competitors! his rivals in glory!”35 Cramer was born in Germany but moved to London as a small child, where he remained. He never lived in Paris, though he published his first works there while traveling, and he performed there throughout the early nineteenth century on tours. Le Pianiste reviewed a concert he gave on 12 December 1833, in its issue of 10 January 1834. What happened at the concert was rather extraordinary. The review expressed the idea that at the concert the sound world of the decade of the 1800s reappeared.

First, Cramer’s technique had not changed since then, and his age had not restricted his playing.

The review noted, “Cramer, sexagenarian, shone of all the strength, grace, and lightness of a man of 30 years!”36 Furthermore, his style was as if transported from another era. “Dussek, Steibelt,

Clementi took to the grave the tradition of their talent of execution, and J.-B. Cramer is here, he revives a whole century with a brilliance that will resonate[:] 300 voices will repeat that Cramer, in one night, rehabilitated a style.”37 The “300 voices” are presumably the number of attendees who would now serve as witnesses to Cramer’s stylistic “revival.” It is interesting that his style of playing was already different from younger performers, and Le Pianiste pointed out that he did not let the fashions of others influence him. It is unclear, unfortunately, what exactly was so different about his performance style.

34 “[...] le dernier des Romains [...]” Le Pianiste an 1, 40. 35 “Hélas! il ne sont plus, ses compétiteurs! ses rivaux en gloire!” Ibid. 36 “Cramer, sexagénaire enfin, et brillant de toute la force, de la grace [sic], et de la légèreté de l’homme de trente ans!” Ibid. 37 “Dusseck [sic], Steibelt, Clémenti, ont emporté dans la tombe la tradition de leur talent d’exécution, et lui, J.-B. Cramer, est là, il fait revivre tout un siècle avec un éclat qui aura du retentissement[:] 300 bouches rediront que Cramer, en une soirée, a réhabilité un style.” Ibid., 41. 82

According to Le Pianiste’s account, his style was not simply aged or antique, which would make him a perruque, but it was lively and inspired, so much so that he won over new supporters at his concert. Lemoine and Chaulieu explained, those “who did not share our enthusiasm for the previous school surprised themselves by applauding warmly.”38 This seems to indicate that the young audience began to appreciate his older style upon hearing it. The journal used language which suggest that the audience could not help themselves: Cramer entranced them and brought them to their feet. One work in particular caused a sensation among the large crowd: Le Pianiste reported that when Cramer performed a set of études, murmurs erupted among many who believed they were new compositions. But, Lemoine and Chaulieu knew that the work was old — it was the first set of études (Studio per il pianoforte, book 1, 1804), something that they performed as students and that had fallen out of favor, they said, due to

“inexperienced professors.”39 Lemoine and Chaulieu must have enjoyed the fact that the lessons of their childhood could still impress people, and appear new and exciting. Surely, this reaction was proof of the transcendent quality of Cramer’s music; the crowd had realized they were wrong: Cramer was certainly no perruque.

! It would be natural to doubt this account, since it so seamlessly proved Lemoine and

Chaulieu’s theory and encouraged their endeavor. In this case, however, their report appears to be true: reviews in other papers corroborate their claims. The Journal des débats, for instance, wrote that “it was especially when he played his études that the public showed the most enthusiasm.”40

A review in the Revue musicale also mentioned the études specifically, and Le Constitutionnel

38 “[...] qui ne partagent point notre enthousiasme pour l’école précédente, se sont surpris à applaudir chaudement.” Ibid. 39 “[...] professeurs inexpérimentés [...]” Ibid. See Johann-Baptiste Cramer, Studio per il pianoforte, book 1, 1804. 40 “Mais c’est surtout quand il a joué ses études, que son auditoire a manifesté le plus d'enthousiasme.” Journal des débats politiques et littéraires, 15 December 1833, 2. 83 wrote that he “electrified” his audience when he played the études, noting that the crowd was filled with professionals, not amateurs.41 This event, just months after their journal opened, must have shown Lemoine and Chaulieu that their journal’s goal of reigniting waning enthusiasm for the “fathers of piano” was both worthwhile and obtainable. Cramer had brought the sound world of the first decade of the nineteenth century to life in the 1830s, and had proven that that music could dazzle 1830s ears.

DANIEL STEIBELT

! No doubt encouraged by the events at Cramer’s concert, (and perhaps convinced that

Cramer did not need his own article), Le Pianiste pressed on with its mission. An unsigned article appeared 10 April 1834 outlining Le Pianiste’s defense of Steibelt (1765–1823). Steibelt was a German pianist who lived in Paris on and off around the turn of the nineteenth century, in the years 1790–1796, 1800–1802, and 1805–1808. Defending Steibelt was somewhat more problematic for Le Pianiste than it had been for Cramer (who defended himself) or Clementi. For one, Steibelt had been out of favor for many years. When he died in 1823, “that event, which was not known until later in Paris, made little sensation there. Steibelt was already forgotten!”42

Second, he had “abused” the “general infatuation” he enjoyed “during the first ten years of the century.”43 Among other unsavory traits and behaviors, such as lying and thievery, he was known

41 Le Constitutionnel, ‘Soirée Musicale de M. Cramer,’ 14 December 1833, 2: “[...] mais c’étaient surtout les Etudes, devenues le manuel du pianiste, qu’on était venu entendre. L’auteur en a effectivement joué quelques-unes, et il a électrisé son auditoire, auditoire d’élite, presque entièrement composé de professeurs et d’exécutans”; and ‘Concert donné par J.-B. Cramer, le 12 décembre, dans les salons de M. Pape’, Revue musicale, an 7/46 (14 December 1833), 382–83. 42 “Il est mort vers 1820, et cet événement, qui ne fut connu que plus tard à Paris, y fit peu de sensation: Steibelt était déjà oublié!!” Le Pianiste an 1, 83. 43 “L’engouement général dont Steibelt a été l’objet pendant les dix premières années de ce siècle n’a peut être pas eu d’égal. Il est fâcheux d’avoir à dire qu’il en abusa [emphasis original].” Ibid. 84 to sell old works to publishers as new ones.44 Though his popularity quickly soured, it had been so immense that as of April 1834, it “had not been equalled,” meaning that no one had, as yet, achieved the popularity he once enjoyed.45

! Le Pianiste set Steibelt’s indiscretions aside, however, and focused rather on his influence, asserting that he deserved an artistic legacy unmarred by his personal failings. “Let us forget the man, let us honor the grand artist,” the article began.46 In that vein, the aim of the article was to remind or teach the readers what Steibelt had accomplished. After all, it mentioned, it was common knowledge that jealousy and envy had exaggerated the extent of the wrongs for which he was guilty.47 As a performer, the journal explained, Steibelt exhibited a “great lightness, and an extreme nimbleness” though not always an “irreproachable cleanness.”48 This flaw in his playing sometimes angered him, especially when performing in public, where he was “below himself.”49 It was the salon where he was most at ease, improvising to the delight of the crowd.

Le Pianiste remarked, “He was the true pianist of the salon: loved and adored by the ladies of society, he knew how to pander to their pleasures.”50

While Steibelt had written more than sixty sonatas, eight concertos, and a handful of operas, his reputation as a salon composer seemed the most damaged to Le Pianiste, and

44 Frank Dawes, et al. “Steibelt, Daniel,” Grove Music Online, Oxford Music Online, Oxford University Press, accessed 7 May, 2013, http://www.oxfordmusiconline.com; Citing Alfred Meissner, Rococo-Bilder: nach Aufzeichnungen meines Großvaters (Gumbinnen: 1871), 208–209. 45 Quoted above. Le Pianiste (see note 43). 46 “Oublions l’homme..... honorons le grand artiste.” Le Pianiste an 1, 81. 47 “[...] qu’il est de notoriété publique que la jalousie, l’envie, contribuèrent beaucoup à exagérer les torts qu’il put avoir à se reprocher.” Ibid., 83. 48 “[...] une grande légèreté, une prestesse extrême, n’était pas toujous [sic] d’une netteté irréprochable [...]” Ibid., 82. 49 “[...] en public, il s’emportait et se trouvait par là au-dessous de lui-même.” Ibid., 83. 50 “C’était le vrai pianiste de salon: aimé, adoré des femmes de la société, il savait fournir abondamment à leurs plaisirs.” Ibid., 82. 85 therefore reviving his reputation required a discussion of salon music in general.51 Le Pianiste believed that just as no one would compare a song to an entire opera and decide which was better, different genres had different functions and should be judged on their own merits. Put in laconic form, the journal stated, “all genres are good, except the boring kind [emphasis original].”52 This maxim, while humorous, meant that if music had the power to excite, then it still had value, whether it was a grand opéra or a bagatelle. Furthermore, Le Pianiste argued that each style of music formed an integral part of the broader musical world and a healthy musical society had music for all sorts of musicians: professional and amateur alike. Le Pianiste explained that various types of music had their own function: “Place the music of etude in the student’s room, the graceful music in the salon; place learned music with the artists, and the graceful music with the amateurs.”53 Yes, it remarked, graceful music, or salon music, had a

“double” chance of success because it was used in two places. Therefore, Steibelt, who had been naturally talented at writing salon music, also had made a smart business move, and his choice of music genre should not be judged by the tastes of the 1830s.

The explanation about salon genres, however, might have been more applicable to

Lemoine and Chaulieu’s personal lives than to Steibelt’s. Chaulieu lamented elsewhere in the journal that he wanted to write more sonatas, but publishers only wanted salon music — variations and fantasies.54 He wrote sonatas throughout his life: the catalogue of his estate lists

51 Steibelt composed many more ballets and operas upon his moving to Russia. It is doubtful the authors of Le Pianiste knew these works, since they are not mentioned in the journal and were only performed in Russia. 52 “[...] tous les genres sont bons hors le genre ennuyeux [... emphasis original]” Le Pianiste an 1, 82. 53 “Mettez la musique d'étude dans le cabinet de l’élève, et la musique gracieuse dans le salon: mettez la musique savante chez les artistes, et la musique gracieuse chez les amateurs.” Ibid. 54 See for instance Le Pianiste an 1, 51: “ ‘M. l’éditeur, dit celui-ci, voici une grande sonate... — Mon cher ami, faites-en un air varié, et je l’achèterai.” 86 more than seventy-six unpublished sonatas, but he published only six in his lifetime.55 Chaulieu had experienced firsthand how market demands affected a composer’s output, and this justification about Steibelt’s business choices, at the least, are equally applicable to him.

Lemoine and Chaulieu also shared some personal memories of Steibelt which are notable for the scene they set. It appears Steibelt held an open salon in the early years of the century, that

Lemoine and Chaulieu, teenaged Conservatoire students at the time, attended: “In a salon he was admirable, and even more at his own place, where we had the good fortune of hearing and seeing him write two of his main works: his [fifth] concerto [...] and his beautiful sonata for

Mademoiselle d’Épréménil [Grande Sonata in G Major].”56 The author (whether it was Lemoine or Chaulieu, it is not indicated) reminisced about a particular encounter at Steibelt’s: “Go sit at the back of the room, he [Steibelt] said to me one day at his home, close your eyes, and listen.”57

Then Steibelt played the adagio of the Grande Sonata in G Major, where, “he employed the pedals so well, whose usage was little known before him.”58 We can imagine here the thrill of a student, receiving instructions from a piano idol, creating an inside secret, and then hearing an entirely new sound. The author also “had the honor” of being Steibelt’s page-turner at the debut of his fifth Concerto “À la chasse” in 1806 at Erard’s salons.59 Still at the Conservatoire,

55 Catalogue of a valuable collection of modern music: including several classical works, particularly for the piano forte; also, the remaining printed stock, the original manuscripts, with the copyright thereto belonging, and engraved music plates of the works of the late eminent pianist, Mr. Charles Chaulieu... Saturday, Dec. 22, 1849 (London: Messrs. Puttick and Simpson, 1849). 56 “C’est dans un salon qu’il était admirable, et bien plus encore chez lui, où nous eûmes le bonheur de l’entendre et de le voir écrire deux de ses principaux ouvrages: son concerto, dont le rondo imite une chasse, et sa belle sonate à mademoiselle d’Épréménil.” Le Pianiste an 1, 83; Daniel Steibelt, Piano Concerto No. 5 in E-flat, ‘À la chasse’; and Daniel Steibelt, Grande Sonata in G Major, déd à Mademoiselle d’Épréménil. Both of these works are listed as op. 64 in various editions. 57 “Va t’asseoir tout au bout du salon, me dit-il un jour chez lui, ferme les yeux, et écoute.” Le Pianiste an 1, 83. 58 “[...] il employait si bien les pédales, dont l’usage était peu connu avant lui.” Ibid. For more information on Steibelt and his use of pedals, please see David Rowland, A History of Pianoforte Pedalling (Cambridge, UK: Cambridge University Press, 1993), 66–75. 59 “Celui qui écrit ces lignes eut l’honneur de lui tourner les feuillets.” Le Pianiste an 1, 83. Daniel Steibelt, Piano Concerto No. 5 in E-flat, ‘À la chasse’. 87

Lemoine and Chaulieu were apparently offered up as musical help, a relationship that would benefit Steibelt and encourage the students. This chance to associate with such a famous musician was an important moment for them, and the experiences in Steibelt’s salon were instrumental in shaping the ideas that are found in Le Pianiste. In the journal, these comments were meant to entice the reader and to prove Le Pianiste’s authority on the piano.

The final point the journal made was that a part of Steibelt’s fall from favor was not entirely his fault: his throngs of imitators eager to make money on his coattails wrote poor approximations of his music and dragged his name down with them. For instance, Steibelt invented the genre “potpourri,” which Le Pianiste said had been “so degenerated in our days under the name of mélange.”60 Furthermore, France had been too fickle: it quickly forgot its love affair with Steibelt and replaced his memory with a caricature. What was left of Steibelt’s reputation, after suffering from his own personality and the plethora of cheap imitations of his music, had further crumbled under the weight of Beethoven and Hummel. The journal explained,

“At that time, his [Steibelt’s] glory in France was at its peak; at that time, Beethoven, Hummel, little known in Paris, were shining in Germany with a great radiance, a radiance that later would spread so much that the shadows of Steibelt and Dussek paled in its wake.”61

JAN LADISLAV DUSSEK

While presenting Steibelt in a positive light required some effort, defending Dussek

(1760–1812), the fourth grand artist, was far easier. He was a model, not only for his musical

60 “[...] si dégénéré de nos jours sous le nom de mélange.” Le Pianiste an 1, 82. 61 “A cette époque, sa gloire en France était à son apogée; à cette époque, Beethowen, Hummel, peu connus à Paris, brillaient en Allemagne d’un grand éclat; éclat qui plus tard devait tellement s’étendre que les ombres de Steibelt, de Dussek en pâlirent.” Le Pianiste an 1, 83. 88 skill and style, but for his good manners and warm demeanor. “Man of conscience, he never abused his popularity, and his whole life was a scale of progress.”62 Dussek, a Bohemian pianist and composer, lived in many places in Europe throughout his life. In addition to an earlier stay prior to the French Revolution, he lived in Paris from 1807 to 1812 and Lemoine and Chaulieu attended his concerts and performed for him during that time. A notice on Dussek, signed by

Chaulieu, appeared on 10 August 1834 in Le Pianiste. Out of the four fathers of piano, Dussek was the one to have the most direct impact on music in Paris, Chaulieu argued. He admitted that when Dussek first arrived in 1786, “the capital of France was not, by far, the capital of the musical world” and that Dussek was “one of those who contributed to the expansion of instrumental music in Paris.”63 Chaulieu, born in 1788, could only have gleaned from others this sense of how far France had come in the meantime, a phenomenon that he wished to impart to the next generation.

The notice on Dussek is easily the longest ever printed in Le Pianiste, at nearly seven pages. The study includes a remarkably detailed biography with analyses and vivid descriptions of his best works. Chaulieu divided his life into three phases, gracing them with these fanciful titles: until 1796, “imagination;”;1797–1800 or from op. 35 through Adieux à Clementi,

62 “Homme de conscience, il n’a jamais abusé de sa popularité, et sa vie entière a été une échelle de progrès [emphasis original].” Le Pianiste an 1, 146. I do not think that this emphasis refers to Liszt, as Laure Schnapper has written in ‘La postérité de Dussek en France au XIXe siècle’, Jan Ladislav Dussek (1760–1812): A Bohemian Composer «en voyage» through Europe, edited by Roberto Iliano and Rohan H. Stewart-MacDonald (Bologna: Ut Orpheus Edizioni, 2012), 212. Rather I believe the comparison is to Steibelt, since the words used to describe what happened to Steibelt are identical. 63 “C’était vers 1786; et à cette époque, la capitale de la France n’était pas, à beaucoup près, celle du monde musical. [...] un de ceux qui contribuèrent à répandre à Paris le gout [sic] de la musique instrumentale.” Le Pianiste an 1, 146. 89

“sentiment;” and after 1800, “know-how.”64 In his final period, Chaulieu explained, Dussek had cultivated the highest level of mastery, described in the following way: “He had found the grand secret for using all the power of the instrument without going beyond.”65 It is hard to say what

Chaulieu meant by “going beyond,” but, to hazard a guess from reading the descriptions of his preferred sound throughout the journal, it appears that he meant Dussek drew from the pianoforte its maximum resonance through his particular touch and special pedaling technique. Those techniques did not involve brute force or banging on the keys, because too much force would stifle the instrument. Thus, he knew how to turn the instrument into a maximally resonant vibrating body.66 Chaulieu wrote elsewhere that “the particular grace with which he sang on his instrument has not been equalled by anyone.”67 In the 1830s, Dussek’s reputation appears to have been in a period of transition: Chaulieu wrote that while the bust of Dussek adorned every piano, young people had never been told why his likeness deserved to be there, presumably because until so recently, it had been obvious to everyone.68

While the article on Dussek aimed to be factual, Chaulieu did indulge in one tantalizing rumor about Dussek, something he must have heard as a boy. It was said that for performing his eighth concerto, the Military Concerto, in the “vast park situated near London,” probably Hyde

64 “1re Epoque: l’imagination; 2e Epoque: le sentiment; 3e Epoque: le savoir-faire.” Le Pianiste, An 1/10, 145. The divisions of these periods are explained in more detail on 147–148, and my dating relies on Howard Allen Craw, “A Biography and Thematic Catalog of the Works of J.L. Dussek (1760–1812)” (Ph.D. diss., University of Southern California), 1964; Jan Ladislav Dussek, Tre Sonate per il pianoforte, 1797, Op. 35, C. 149-151; Jan Ladislav Dussek, The Farewell, in French as Les Adieux à son ami Clementi, Grand Sonata for the Pianoforte, 1800, Op. 44, C. 178. 65 “Il avait trouvé le grand secret d'employer toute la puissance de l'instrument sans aller au-delà [emphasis original].” Le Pianiste an 1, 149. 66 See for instance Dussek described in Chaulieu’s article ‘Des Pédales du piano et d’un Signe nouveau’ in: Le Pianiste an 1, 131–132. For further discussion, see David Rowland, 110–115. 67 “La grâce particulière avec laquelle il chantait sur son instrument n’a été égalée par personne [emphasis original].” Le Pianiste an 1, 151. 68 Le Pianiste an 1, 149 footnote: “[...] son buste qui est chez tous les pianistes [...]”; and Le Pianiste an 1, 145: “[...] beaucoup de nos jeunes abonnées entendront dire pour la première fois, que l’école précédente, loin de mériter le dédain qu’affectent pour elle un grand nombre d’élèves [...]” 90

Park, Dussek was paid 3,000 guinées or 75,000 francs, which was roughly 30 times the highest yearly salary for a Conservatoire professor.69 Then, Dussek promptly lost it all gambling that very night.70 Such an extreme story, even admittedly a rumor, makes the life of an international piano star glamorous and also mythologizes Dussek in a particular way: as an iconic artist who lived with abandon.

The article also included detailed analysis and personal impressions of Dussek’s music that represent some of Le Pianiste’s most vivid commentary. The three sonatas of opus 35 were named “before, during, and after a passion.”71 “Before” was characterized by desire and a soul

“strongly shaken by endearment.” “During” was understood as the joy of possession, with joyful singing at the same time. “After” was expressed as jealousy.72 The opening theme of the third sonata is fitful; it features C minor arpeggios that seem to be spinning out from the center in an effort to free themselves from the pull of the tonic note (See Example 3). Chaulieu believed that the third movement of the third sonata should not be played, because it is like the “laugh of

Mephistopheles” and was entirely “disenchanting.”73 This was the only negative thing said about

Dussek’s work in the entire journal. Dussek, it was suggested, was also proto-Romantic, though

69 “[...] vaste jardin situé près de Londres [...].” Ibid., 147. He could also be referring to Vauxhall Gardens. Chaulieu wrote that 3,000 guineas (a guinea is one pound, one shilling) was equivalent to 75,000 F. Le Pianiste an 1, 147. The highest salary for a Conservatoire professor was 2,500 F in the years 1798–1801, from Constant Pierre, Le Conservatoire nationale de musique et de déclamation (Paris, 1900), 409–412. 70 Le Pianiste an 1, 147. Jan Ladislav Dussek, The Grand Military Concerto for the Pianoforte, 1798, op. 40, C. 153, 1798. 71 “[...] avant, pendant et après une passion [... emphasis original].” Le Pianiste an 1, 147. Jan Ladislav Dussek, Tre Sonate per il pianoforte, op. 35, C. 149-151, 1797. 72 “Dans la première, le sentiment, le désir, tous les premiers mouvemens d'une âme fortement agitée par la tendresse; — dans la deuxième, toute la joie de la possession de l'objet vivement désiré; des chants tendres et joyeux à la fois, des traits brillans et pleins d'éclat; — dans la troisième, la scène change, et la jalousie avec ses accens furieux et passionnés, peint violemment la perte de l’objet chéri, le désespoir dans son dernier paroxisme [sic].” Le Pianiste an 1, 147. 73 “[...] le rire de Méphistophélès, pour produire un désenchantement complet.” Ibid. In advocating that the third movement not be played, Chaulieu was probably describing a performance convention of the time. 91 the journal did not use such a term: the rondo of Dussek’s op. 75 (Grande Sonate pour le Piano

Forte) was said to be full of “that sad grace with which all modern works are imbued.”74

Example 2.1: Opening motive of Dussek op. 35, no. 3, mm 1–11 (Paris: Farrenc, 1870). “After a passion: jealousy” (Le Pianiste an 1, 147).

The sonata “Le Retour à Paris” (Sonata in A-Flat Major, C. 221) received special attention, possibly because it was written for Paris, and Chaulieu took that as a source of national pride.75 Chaulieu believed that this sonata was the most dramatic work ever written for piano, except for perhaps something by Beethoven (a specific work was not mentioned). The sonata was the place where “all the science of the pianist was revealed [...] it was a completed revolution.”76 The minuet (third movement) seemed to have touched Chaulieu especially: the main scherzo theme revealed “all of the pain of the present and the doubt of the future.”77 In the trio, he explained,“the sky seems to open itself to his eyes as to encourage him [an unnamed

74 “[...] plein de cette grâce triste dont tous ses ouvrages modernes étaient empreints.” Le Pianiste an 1, 150. Jan Ladislav Dussek, Grande Sonate pour le Piano Forte (1811), op. 75, C. 247. 75 In various editions, listed as op. 64, 70, 71, or 77. Designated as ‘Craw 221’ by Craw (see note 64), 353. Jan Ladislav Dussek, ‘Le Retour à Paris’, Sonata in A-Flat Major, 1807, C. 221. 76 “[...] toute la science du pianiste était révélée. [...] c’était une révolution achevée [...].” Le Pianiste an 1, 149. 77 “[...] tout ce que la douleur du présent et le doute sur l’avenir [...].” Ibid. 92 protagonist] with comforting hope.”78 This hope is ripped away by the return to the first theme.

The moment the scherzo returns was described as “the cry of the lost soul, or, in a word, the sublime as we understand it [emphasis original].”79

This movement is unusual: the first theme does not announce its key of A-flat major until the closing cadence — it spends most of its time on a fully diminished seventh chord after beginning, briefly, with an F-sharp major triad (“the pain of the present and doubt of the future”).

The trio is in E major (“comforting hope”). It is unclear if Chaulieu felt the “cry of the lost soul” to be at the exact moment of return to the first theme, which could be heard as a local supertonic to the E major cadence prior, or generally the first theme, which slips back into the diminished seventh and cadences in A-flat: a chromatic mediant relationship from the trio’s E major (See

Example 4). But either way, this personal and poignant analysis reveals so much about what

Chaulieu thought music could aspire to, and comprises some of the most intriguing and intimate writing in Le Pianiste.

78 “[...] le ciel semble s’ouvrir à ses yeux comme pour l’encourager dans un espoir consolateur [...].” Ibid. 79 “[...] ah! c’est bien le cri de l’âme en peine, c’est, en un mot, le sublime comme nous le comprenons [...].” Ibid., 149–150. 93

µ− ∀ ∀∀ − µ µµ α α ∀ ∀ ∀ ∀ % ∀ ∀ µ − µ α α µ− − piano e legatissimo ∀ ∀ µ− > ∀ ∀∀ µ µµ α α ∀ − − ∀ − [Minuetto µ α α D.C.]

ι α α ∀ µ µ µ α α % α α µ − −∀ µ µ−α α µ− µ−α α µ−

µ ∀ ∀ µ α − − − > − − α α− α αααα

sempre diminuendo α α α− − − % α α µ− − µ− α − dim. dim. − Ρ > α > − α αα % α α− − − − − −

=− αα α ι Ι % α Ι Ι ι − − > α − − α αα − − − Ι

Example 2.2: Cadence of Trio into the return of the Minuet. Dussek “Le Retour à Paris,” third movement.Ex “Comforting4: «Comfortin hope”g hope »toto “all«all theof t hpaine pa iofn o thef th epresentpresent andand tthehe ddoubtoubt o fofth thee fu tfuture.”ure». «The cry of the lost soul, or the sublime as we understand it». “The cryC ofad ethence lostof tr soul,io into orth thee re tsublimeurn of th easm iwenue understandt. Dussek, 'L it”e R e(Letou rPianisteà Paris' tanhir d1,m 149–150).ovement.

To complete his picture of Dussek, Chaulieu also added his own memory of performing for Dussek as a young man. He mentioned that Dussek instructed him on how to play his quartet 94 and quintet, which suggests that Chaulieu received some lessons from Dussek on more than one occasion.80 Chaulieu also performed for Dussek in a concert setting: considering the size of the ensemble it seems likely to have been arranged through the Conservatoire, and given the added details of his account it appears this experience belonged to Chaulieu’s most cherished memories. He wrote that around 1809,

We were fortunate enough to hear him play it many times [the Grande symphonie concertante for two pianos and orchestra, op. 63], and we had the honor of performing it in front of him, with Camille Pleyel. Dussek, who was as indulgent as he was talented, was kind enough to encourage our efforts and attest to the satisfaction he felt in hearing his symphony without having to play one of the parts.81

! To close the long article, Chaulieu pointed to one budding pianist, unique among his generation because unwittingly, he had the potential to carry Dussek’s legacy. He wrote, “a lone pianist, young, with a brilliant future, and that one hears too little, reminds us of him very much; with a little more simplicity, he would remind us of him totally.”82 He did not name the young pianist here; however, from clues left elsewhere in the journal, it is clear that he was referring to

Frédéric Chopin.83

80 Le Pianiste an 1, 148. Jan Ladislav Dussek, Quatuor pour le pianoforte, violin, alto et violoncelle, 1803, C. 197; and Grand Quintetto pour le pianoforte, 1799, op. 41, C. 172. 81 “Nous fûmes assez heureux pour la lui entendre jouer plusieurs fois, et nous eûmes l’honneur de l’exécuter devant lui, de moitié avec Camille Pleyel; Dussek, qui avait autant d'indulgence que de talent, voulut bien encourager nos efforts et témoigner la satisfaction qu'il éprouvait en entendant sa symphonie sans jouer lui-même une des deux parties.” Le Pianiste an 1, 150. Jan Ladislav Dussek, Grande Symphonie concertante, Concerto pour deux pianofortes avec accompagnement de l’orchestre (1805–1806), op. 63, C. 206. 82 “Un seul pianiste, jeune, brillant d'avenir, et qu'on entend trop peu, nous le rappelle beaucoup; avec un peu plus de simplicité, il nous le rappellerait tout-à-fait.” Le Pianiste an 1, 151. 83 The idea that one heard Chopin too little became a code phrase for him after some reviews said Chopin was not heard enough in public. 95

The “New German” Tradition — Hummel and Beethoven

It is clear from certain comments in Le Pianiste that Hummel and Beethoven were thought to represent a distinctly separate tradition within the deuxième époque. The “fathers of piano” could be thought of as the “old French” masters, and Hummel and Beethoven were the

“new German” ones. Since all of these musicians were in the deuxième époque, the relative age of the traditions, old or new, has nothing to do with the era of the musicians in question; instead, it describes the relative time in which Lemoine and Chaulieu or perhaps France in general became aware of them. The German tradition represented by Hummel and Beethoven was seemingly newer than the “French” tradition, because Hummel and Beethoven’s earlier careers were largely hidden from France at the time they were occurring in Vienna.

Crucially, however, Lemoine and Chaulieu believed that this newer tradition threatened the reputations of the “fathers of piano.” To return to a previous quote, the authors of Le Pianiste had a sense that Hummel and Beethoven were “a great radiance” that had spread to envelop the

“shadows” of Dussek and Steibelt.84 Opening up the Parisian world to these masters was exciting, but with anything new also comes a sense of danger. In this case, this German music, more interesting at the least by its unfamiliarity, seemed fresher, and made the work of the

“fathers of piano” seem dull and extra old-fashioned by comparison. This also may have fed into the meaning and usage of the word perruque.

The writing in Le Pianiste reflects this tension and its solution. In typical French philosophical fashion of the time, the authors take the juste milieu, or the middle path, and discuss the value of both groups. Lemoine and Chaulieu were open to new music, but despite this

84 See note 61. 96 inclusiveness, they worked much harder to explain the value of the “fathers of piano” than

Hummel and Beethoven. This might seem as if Lemoine and Chaulieu were more interested in promoting their “fathers” than Beethoven and Hummel, but instead, the increased emphasis on the “fathers” is a byproduct of Hummel and Beethoven’s solid reputations in the mid-1830s. In addition, it should be noted that Le Pianiste printed notices on Handel, Haydn, Mozart, and the

“three Scarlattis,” but the only articles in Le Pianiste to contain first-hand and original ideas about past musicians are those on the “fathers of piano” and Hummel and Beethoven.85 The articles on other musicians from the past contain information borrowed or excerpted from other texts.86 The authors of Le Pianiste believed that Handel and Mozart were important as well, but they had little personal knowledge about them. On the other hand, Lemoine and Chaulieu had met Hummel: he first visited Paris in 1825, and returned around 1829 or 1830.87 The article and notices in Le Pianiste on Hummel are similar to those for the fathers of piano because they focus in part on personal anecdotes and experiences. But neither Lemoine nor Chaulieu had ever met

Beethoven. In place of personal anecdotes, however, the authors of Le Pianiste had studied his published music in detail and explained their interpretation and understanding of many of his works, the results of which, as will be shown, comprise Le Pianiste’s original writing on his music.

85 Le Pianiste: Hummel: an 1, 17–19; Beethoven: an 2, 1–3, 33–36; Bach family: an 1, 105–107; Handel: an 1, 178– 179; Haydn: an 2, 116–118, 123–127, 131–134; Mozart: an 2, 147–150, 155–158, 163–164, 183–184; Scarlatti family: an 2, 139–140. 86 For instance, Le Pianiste borrowed from Fétis’s Biographie universelle in the case of the Scarlatti family, or from Castil-Blaze excerpting Choron’s Dictionnaire historique des musiciens in the case of the Bach. See the note imbedded in the article Le Pianiste an 1, 106. 87 Hummel’s Grove biography notes that Hummel came to Paris in 1825; Le Pianiste does not mention these concerts. Joel Sachs and Mark Kroll, “Hummel, Johann Nepomuk,” Grove Music Online, Oxford Music Online (Oxford University Press, accessed 19 November 2014), http://www.oxfordmusiconline.com 97

In Le Pianiste, Hummel (1778–1837) was hailed as a grand piano master and the founder of “the modern piano school.”88 A small musical family tree at the start of Le Pianiste’s most substantial article on Hummel placed him in a predominantly German school, as the inheritor of a tradition formed by Bach, Handel, and Domenico Scarlatti, passed to Haydn and Mozart, and received by Hummel. In particular, Le Pianiste stated that his études continued a tradition of

Haydn, and his genius continued a tradition of Mozart.89 As Le Pianiste had done in other articles on grand artists, it summarized known biographical information and listed the artist’s best and most popular works. For Hummel, this included his op. 18 Fantasy, described as a “model of its genre” and “without rival,” his sonatas op. 81 and 106, “where science and the charm of melody are constantly reunited,” and his Septet, which vaulted him into the “first rank” of musicians.”90

Le Pianiste argued that it was remarkable that Hummel, the man who had composed such amazing works of genius, had been “so simple, so good, so affable” in person.91 Le Pianiste praised his humility, just as it had done with Dussek.

The majority of this “notice,” however, was spent discussing two lingering issues from

Hummel’s visits to Paris: Hummel’s playing posture and his free improvisations. Le Pianiste writes in one other place about playing posture, but no where else do its authors discuss free improvisations. This can make these issues seem rather disconnected from the rest of the journal.

However, not only are these issues interesting topics by themselves, the fact that Le Pianiste spends time discussing this and not Hummel’s music seems to indicate something about

88 “[...] fondateur de l’école moderne.” Le Pianiste an 1, 17. 89 Ibid. 90 “[...] modèle dans son genre et restée sans imitation [...]” and “[...] où la science et le charme du chant sont constamment réunis [...]” Le Pianiste an 1, 17. Johann Nepomuk Hummel, Twenty-five Etudes, op. 125 (Vienna, Paris, and London, 1833); Fantasie, op. 18 (Vienna, 1805); Sonata in F# minor, op. 81 (Vienna, 1819); and Sonata in D Major, op. 106 (Vienna, c. 1825). 91 “[...] si simple, si bon, si affable [...]” Le Pianiste an 1, 18. 98

Hummel’s popularity and wide appeal in late 1833 when this notice was written. It may be that a long list of Hummel’s music and a discussion of his compositional style were less needed than they were for Dussek or Steibelt, as Hummel’s music was more in circulation and beloved.

Instead, Lemoine and Chaulieu clearly felt strongly about these two performance issues from his concerts and had not had a public platform to discuss them, until late 1833.

For Hummel’s performance posture, Hummel embodied an aesthetic that was fading in

France in which the body made as little movement as possible.92 Le Pianiste described

Hummel’s physical performance style as relaxed and subtle: “his graceful playing rises rarely to noise, and one never hears under his fingers these thunder claps that attract applause today.”93

Further, and more important, was that Hummel did not “add pantomime to execution.”94 His playing lacked the theatricality to which a Parisian audience may have been becoming accustomed: there was no outward struggle, no sweating, and no facial contortions. His body was so tranquil while playing that he made difficult passages look like easy tasks. While the authors of Le Pianiste had grown up with this tradition, and advocated for it, its appearance at Hummel’s concert had apparently led some Parisians to believe that Hummel was not playing anything difficult. Le Pianiste explained, “Here is the cause of this error: his hands well placed, well rounded, never grimacing; his body, once set in place, makes no movement: his left hand — and it no longer merits this term — is so equal to his right hand that the biggest difficulties are only a

92 Norwegian pianist Christina Kobb has spent years recreating this technique in her own playing, based mainly on the instruction found in Hummel’s piano method, Ausführliche theoretisch-praktische Anweisung zum Pianoforte- Spiel: vom ersten Elementar-Unterricht an bis zur vollkommensten Ausbildung (Vienna, 1827). She has also told me that she is able to learn pieces faster now than ever before, because of the technique. Her PhD thesis with results is forthcoming. 93 “Son excellent qualité de son, son jeu gracieux s’élèvent rarement jusqu’au bruit, et l’on n’entend jamais sous les doigts ces coups de tonnerre, qui attirent aujourd’hui les applaudissements.” Le Pianiste an 1, 18. 94 “[...] Hummel ne joint pas la pantomime à l’exécution [...].” Ibid. 99 game for him [emphasis original].”95 Le Pianiste continually advocated for a calm demeanor while playing, and criticized Liszt, especially, for his “paroxysms of exaltation” in performance.96 Le Pianiste explained that Hummel regarded pantomime as “harmful to the effect” of the music.97

This confusion speaks to changes in performance practice that altered how music was perceived in concert. It suggests that in Le Pianiste’s milieu of the recent past, which was perhaps more aristocratic, the audience did not need cues from the performer about what was difficult or exciting. It appears there was even a desired aesthetic that prized making difficult passages look easy. It might have been seen as skillful, masterly, or perhaps even coquettish. By

1830 in Paris, however, at least some audience members, who may have been less educated and more bourgeois, were looking to the pianist to provide them with cues about how difficult the music was. To show that the pianist was working or even struggling to successfully play certain passages provided information to the audience about the skill required to achieve them. By the fact that Le Pianiste had to explain that Hummel had played difficult passages, it appears that this physical communication had become a crutch to some audience members — lacking it, they did not understand that the music was hard to play. Because Le Pianiste does not discuss this issue in further detail, more conclusive answers cannot be drawn. However, it does seem to suggest a disappointment with less educated audiences, and explains another reason why Le

Pianiste took up its avid mission to educate.

95 “Voici la cause de cette erreur: ses mains bien placées, bien arrondies, ne grimacent jamais; son corps une fois posé, ne fait aucun mouvement: sa main gauche — et elle ne mérite plus ce nom — est tellement égale à sa main droite que les plus grandes difficultés ne sont qu’un jeu pour lui.” Ibid. 96 In reference to Liszt: “[...] paroxysmes de son exaltation [...]” Le Pianiste an 2, 95. Please see chapter 4 for more on Liszt. 97 “[...] il [Hummel] la [pantomime] regard au contraire comme nuisible à l’effet.” Ibid. 100

The other main issue discussed in Le Pianiste’s “notice” on Hummel had to do with free improvisation and how it was meant to be understood. Hummel’s improvisations at his concerts a few years prior had caused some confusion in Paris: they had been so beautiful that some of the public were mistakenly convinced they were prepared beforehand. To remedy this, Lemoine and

Chaulieu explained the relationship between composition and improvisation and explained how

Hummel had been steeped in a higher and more profound method of improvisation that apparently had become rare in Paris by 1830. It is commonly understood that free improvisation declined in the period from about 1800 to 1850, and this particular episode and its confusion provides some idea about differences in regional practices.

First, Lemoine and Chaulieu distinguished between two styles of free improvisation. The first, a lower and easier type, was described as nothing more than finger passages or

“mechanistic lines” connected to one another.98 Hummel’s improvisation, on the other hand, had been “these beautiful and powerful inspirations so well thought out, so strongly rendered!”99 In the latter and better type, Le Pianiste explained that improvisation was related to a musician’s entire life experience as a performer and a composer, and that he might remember, or recreate naturally, some ideas that he had in the past while improvising and composing, fully steeped in the mode of creative production. This did not mean, however, that the piece had been practiced or planned. The act of improvisation itself was an unprepared sojourn into a mental space where new ideas mixed freely with a musician’s lifetime experience:

One conceives that the man of genius can, in the silence of his room, classify with order his inspiration [musical ideas], and that, only delivering them to the public revised with care [in a published, edited form], he says to himself with conscience: This is what I have

98 “[...] traits de mécanisme [...]” Le Pianiste an 1, 18. 99 “[...] ces belles et puissantes inspirations si bien pensées, si vivement rendues!” Ibid. 101

been able to do better. One again conceives that in public, without preparation, these same inspirations come with clarity, to form a whole so perfect that the envious can say with some appearance of truth: That is prepared! As for us, we were not tricked there [emphasis original].100

That one could levy an insult to the effect that an improvisation might be prepared was especially dangerous because of its partial truth: any good improvisation, for Le Pianiste, reflected a lifetime of preparation, but not a specific prearranged plan. It is unclear why Hummel’s improvisations in Paris were problematic; the report may show a change in perceptions about what constituted improvisation, unfamiliarity with improvisation in general, or a stark contrast between the quality of what Parisians were accustomed to and Hummel’s playing.101 But whatever the cause, the explanation about what Hummel was really doing provides an interesting picture about the reality of improvisation as the practice was declining.

Beethoven was not a part of Le Pianiste’s first year plan, but a lengthy multi-part article was presented at the start of the journal’s second year. In some ways, this placement was more fitting for Le Pianiste’s expanded second-year format. Le Pianiste’s scope had broadened in its second year to include discussion of musical topics other than the piano, and Beethoven’s career mirrored the expansion of the journal: he was not only a pianist but also a conductor and a

100 “On conçoit que l’homme de génie puisse, dans le silence du cabinet, classer avec ordre ses inspirations, et que, ne les livrant au public que revues avec soin, il se dise avec conscience: ceci est ce que j’ai pu faire de mieux. — On conçoit encore qu’en public, sans préparation, ces mêmes inspirations viennent avec clarté, former un tout tellement parfait que les envieux puissent dire avec quelque apparence de vérité: Cela est préparé! Quant à nous, nous ne nous y sommes pas trompés.” Ibid. 101 Studies of improvisation tend to agree that the period of 1800 to 1850 delineates the decline of improvisation, but have focused on specific issues within canonic composers such as Liszt, Beethoven, or Chopin, leaving wide gaps in our knowledge. For more information, see Kenneth Hamilton, After the Golden Age: Romantic Pianism and Modern Performance (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2008) or Valerie Woodring Goertzen, “By Way of Introduction: Preluding by 18th- and Early 19th-Century Pianists,” Journal of Musicology 14/3 (1996), 299–337; Dana Gooley’s forthcoming, “Saving Improvisation: Hummel and the Free Fantasia in the Early Nineteenth Century” in The Oxford Handbook of Critical Improvisation Studies, vol 2, discusses Hummel’s improvisation at concerts of the 1820s but does not discuss any Parisian concerts or Parisian press [text of this article is available online as of January 2016 at http://www.academia.edu/7662298/Saving_Improvisation]. 102 composer of works in all genres, with or without piano. Thus his place at the front of Le

Pianiste’s new format was fitting: whereas Clementi represented the piano, Beethoven represented music in a more general sense.

The majority of the biographical information in Le Pianiste’s article on Beethoven was taken from the biography section in Ignaz von Seyfried’s 1832 Beethoven’s Studien im

Generalbasse (the article acknowledges a debt to “chevalier Seyfried” in a footnote).102 The rest of the notice, written by Chaulieu, painted Beethoven in grandiose terms already typical by the mid-1830s, as a colossal man, dramatic in all forms of music, and “genius personified.”103 Those who may not have recognized Beethoven’s genius as a fundamental truth were warned that anyone who mocked or misunderstood Beethoven would be forgotten and disregarded by history:

Back! Pygmies, who, to make themselves look bigger, seek to shrink such heroes, who climb on rooftops to proclaim their [heroes’] weaknesses, to the great satisfaction of those who have personal faults in need of legitimizing, and who supposedly want to inform the public that mocks them; back! messieurs, your names will be forgotten soon enough, while those [heroes] will shine with a new luster, inscribed in the temple of memory, alongside Palestrina, Handel, and Bach.104

There is a sense here that Beethoven was a litmus test by 1834 in France: one must admire him or be ousted from society. Further, this passage also reveals evidence of Lemoine and Chaulieu’s vision of what we might call a canon, their “temple of memory.” In this vision, great musicians

102 Ignaz von Seyfried, Beethoven’s Studien im Generalbasse, Contrapuncte und in der Compositions-lehre (Vienna: 1832). 103 “[...] génie personnifié [...].” Le Pianiste an 2, 1. 104 “Arrière! Les pygmées, qui, pour hausser leur petite taille, cherchent à rapetisser de tels héros; qui grimpent sur les toits pour proclamer leurs faiblesses, à la grande satisfaction de ceux qui ont des fautes personnelles à légitimer, et qui, soi-disant, veulent éclairer le public qui se moque d’eux; arrière! messieurs; vos noms seront oubliés depuis long-temps, quand ceux-ci brilleront d’un nouvel éclat, inscrits au temple de mémoire, à côté de ceux des Palestrina, des Handel, des Bach.” Le Pianiste an 2, 1. This admonition was probably in reference to the Gazette musicale’s conte fantastique that had called Beethoven a drunk, since this issue was brought up repeatedly in Le Pianiste. See Gazette musicale an 1, 2. 103 would be heralded forever, and those who had stood in their way would fade into oblivion. It was already understood in 1834 that Beethoven was a part of this “temple.”

For the remainder of the journal’s discussion of Beethoven, Le Pianiste argued that printing a detailed analysis of Beethoven’s works would only result in monotony for its readers, as it declared “it would be necessary for us to multiply the cries of oh! ah! beautiful! superb! admirable!! sublime!!! [emphasis original]”105 Le Pianiste did print, however, a list of

Beethoven’s works for piano with various descriptions about them, intended to help familiarize their readers with the character of each piece.106 While this portion of the article lacks detailed musical analysis that can be found in other places in the journal, it shows the author Chaulieu’s breadth of knowledge about Beethoven’s published piano music and portrays a typically overlooked aspect of Beethoven’s French reception. It is known that Beethoven’s reputation in

France was initially cool and only warmed after his death; many sources cite an 1828 Société des concerts program as a defining moment in French reception.107 However, these sources have tended to look at concerts and reviews to understand the acceptance and valorization of

Beethoven’s works in France, and Le Pianiste’s article gives us instead a picture of circulated scores and the encyclopedic knowledge that could be obtained through their purchase. For instance, nearly every published piano sonata was known to Le Pianiste and listed in the article,

105 “Il nous faudrait [...] multiplier les oh! ah! beau! superbe! admirable!! sublime!!!” Le Pianiste an 2, 3. 106 Le Pianiste an 2, 33–36. 107 For more information, see James H. Johnson, “Beethoven and the Birth of Romantic Musical Experience in France,” 19th-Century Music 15/1 (Summer 1991), 23–35; and Peter Bloom, “Critical Reaction to Beethoven in France: François-Joseph Fétis,” Revue belge de Musicologie / Belgisch Tijdschrift voor Muziekwetenschap 26/27 (1972/1973), 67–83. 104 whereas, for a comparison, Lemoine and Chaulieu knew only a few pieces of music by Schubert

(see chapter 4).108

The journal’s catalogue featured brief descriptions of the many works with which

Chaulieu, the author, was familiar, peppered with various notes about their reputations, ideas as they occurred to him, and outbursts of feeling, like, “No, it is impossible to go over all these beautiful things in my memory, without being profoundly moved (regarding Sonata op. 28,

“Pastorale”).”109 Notable comments include the idea that the op. 96 Violin Sonata was where

Beethoven’s “mystical genius” began to show itself because “the ideas, elevated and as if enveloped in a light cloud, do not make themselves understood at first glance.”110 Beethoven’s late works were understood to be “imbued with a sort of mysticism near impenetrable to the vulgar masses.111 Piano sonatas op. 106 (Hammerklavier), op. 109, and op. 110 were singled out for being dense in ideas like the writings of Kant or Cousin.112 Chaulieu also believed that

Beethoven’s deafness allowed for him to reach more advanced and complex ideas: “His infirmity, so fatal to a musician, maybe had returned to him the more delicate intuitive sense, the thing that permitted him to see the nebulae that we cannot distinguish.”113

Finally, Chaulieu addressed the present state of Beethoven performers, which exhibited an idea of the performer as a vessel for the work of the composer that is unusual in Le Pianiste.

108 For more on Schubert’s reception in France throughout the nineteenth century, see Xavier Hascher, “Schubert’s Reception in France: a chronology (1828–1928),” The Cambridge Companion to Schubert, edited by Christopher Gibbs (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1997), 236–269. 109 “Non, il est impossible de repasser dans sa mémoire toutes ces belles choses, sans être profondément ému.” Le Pianiste an 2, 34. 110 “Les idées élevées et comme enveloppées dans un nuage léger, ne se comprennent pas tout d’abord [...]” Ibid., 35. 111 “Ses derniers ouvrages sont empreints d’une sorte de mysticité presque impénétrable au vulgaire.” Ibid. 112 Le Pianiste an 2, 34. 113 “[...] son infirmité, si fatale à un musicien, lui avait peut-être rendu le sens intuitif plus délicat, ce qui lui permettait de voir des nébuleuses que nous ne pouvons distinguer.” Ibid. 105

Beethoven, according to Chaulieu, had used his piano as a “servant” to his whims, and wrote that the performer most “called to realize for us the memories of Beethoven” was Liszt.114 Chaulieu believed that Beethoven and Liszt had an affinity in their playing styles, though Chaulieu had never heard Beethoven play. The performance of Beethoven’s music in a Parisian concert was not uncommon, especially after 1828, and six weeks prior to this article’s publication date, Liszt had been heard playing Beethoven’s violin sonata op. 47 (the Kreutzer sonata) with violinist

Crétien Urhan.115 However, Le Pianiste believed that Liszt’s full potential as a Beethoven interpreter was not achieved because his playing was too exaggerated, and his personality and behavior stood in his way.

As for us, who like to give justice to even those with whom we have differences, we say that Liszt would seem to us the sole pianist called to realize for us the memories of Beethoven, if the heat of playing and the extraordinary facility that place this young player in a totally exceptional position, would suffice; endowed with imaginative abilities, he might have been then a man of genius for whom all the possible conceptions are feasible. But Liszt is only a man of talent, an immense talent, sometimes admirable, sometimes capricious, and often exaggerated.116

Since Liszt’s latent skill as an interpreter of Beethoven was not yet realized, Chaulieu said he preferred Beethoven to be played by Ferdinand Hiller, who had performed Beethoven’s Piano

114 “[...] appelé à réaliser pour nous les souvenirs de Beethoven [...]” Le Pianiste an 2, 36. 115 Concert of 24 November 1834 at the Église Saint-Vincent de Paul. For more information on Liszt’s public concert repertoire of this time, see Geraldine Keeling, “Liszt’s Appearances in Parisian Concerts, 1824–1844,” Liszt Society Journal 11(1986), 22–34, and Liszt Society Journal 12 (1987), 8–22. 116 “Quant à nous, qui aimons à rendre justice à ceux même dont nous blâmons les écarts, nous dirons que Listz nous semblerait le seul pianiste appelé à réaliser pour nous les souvenirs de Beethoven, si la chaleur de jeu et la facilité extraordinaire qui mettent ce jeune exécutant dans une position tout-à-fait exceptionnelle, suffisaient; doué de facultés imaginatives, il eut été alors un homme de génie pour qui toutes les conceptions possibles sont praticables. Mais Liszt n’est qu’un homme de talent, d’une immense talent, parfois admirable, parfois fantasque, et souvent exagéré.” Le Pianiste an 2, 36. 106

Concerto no. 5 op. 73 (“Emperor”) on 23 March 1833 (and then the “Kreutzer” sonata one month after the article was printed).117 For more on Liszt and Hiller, see chapter 4.

Conclusion

! Le Pianiste’s discussions of the pianists from the première and deuxième époques of pianism give us a picture of two colliding worlds in an era when the canon was beginning to be formed. Lemoine and Chaulieu’s emphasis on the “fathers of piano” did not mean that they were old-fashioned, or out of touch with their fellow journal-owners who touted Beethoven as the greatest master. Instead, their discussions of Clementi, Cramer, Steibelt, and Dussek were meant to prevent these figures from being permanently overshadowed by the rising reputation of

Beethoven. In the “fathers of piano” Lemoine and Chaulieu were writing both a French history and a personal one, and they believed that knowledge of these pianists would be critical for ages to come. Their writing on the music and lives of these musicians is incredibly detailed, personal, and vivid: it helps the reader of the 1830s as well as one of today to visualize the depth and breadth of the music that was most familiar to pianists in France in the first two decades of the nineteenth century and opens new ways of understanding this world.

For Lemoine and Chaulieu, Hummel and Beethoven represented a “new past” that was valuable, deeply admirable, but distinct from the past represented by the “fathers of piano.” The fact that Le Pianiste’s writing on Beethoven has so much in common with what a modern audience knows and believes about him only reinforces the strength of this sort of thinking that

117 Concert of 23 March 1833 mentioned in Geraldine Keeling, “Liszt’s Appearances in Parisian Concerts,” 31; announcement and review of the concerts of 31 January and 7 February 1835 can be found in Le Pianiste an 2, 50 and 64, respectively. It is also possible that the authors of Le Pianiste had heard Hiller play Beethoven either in a private setting, which generally are not reported anywhere, or more recently in public, as Hiller’s complete concert dates and repertoire are unknown in the secondary literature. 107

Le Pianiste recognized in the mid-1830s. As we know, Beethoven began to be mythologized during his lifetime in a way that was so powerful it has been hard to alter in any way, and Le

Pianiste allows us to see that these ideas were common currency in France by 1834. The juxtaposition of this familiar knowledge with the entirely foreign knowledge of the “fathers of piano” is striking, and helps illustrate the transitions occurring in canon formation and reception in France in the mid-1830s. In some ways Le Pianiste seems to predict that the “fathers of piano” would not outlast the myth of Beethoven, but in other ways, it might have been that what they feared had already come to pass.

To return to the interpretive problem presented by Le Pianiste’s frontispiece of Clementi, any confusion melts away with an understanding of Le Pianiste’s authors, their sense of history and the world they lived in as students, and the attitudes in society to which Lemoine and

Chaulieu were reacting. The valorization of Beethoven and the attitude about perruques created an environment hostile at worst, or indifferent at best, to the French piano history that Lemoine and Chaulieu feared would not be able to survive them. But of course, Lemoine and Chaulieu’s attitude was not that Beethoven needed to be brought down, but that the “fathers of piano” deserved to be brought up to something near or at his level. The authors hoped to convince the new generation that a juste milieu, combining both the “old French” tradition and the “new

German” one, was the best: Chaulieu wrote, “If we make a few proselytes, we will be satisfied.”118 To add yet another layer, Le Pianiste also believed that the study of the musical past gave another more immediate benefit. Refamiliarization with the styles of Dussek, Clementi,

118 “[...] si nous faisons quelques prosélytes, nous serons satisfaits.” Le Pianiste an 1, 145. 108

Cramer, and Steibelt might provide an alternative to the style that had caused a crisis in pianism in the 1820s, discussed in the next chapter: Virtuosity. 109

Chapter 3: Music “for the Eyes”: On Virtuosity and the 1820s

We might expect the topic of pianistic virtuosity to pervade Le Pianiste, because virtuosity was a prominent subject among the journal’s better-known contemporaries and Le

Pianiste was a journal devoted to the piano. But, apart from one exception, Le Pianiste’s discussion of virtuosity was restricted to a small subset of articles about the troisième époque, or the generation of pianists born in the 1780s and 90s. While virtuosity seems like a new and contentious topic in other 1830s journals, it was tritely familiar for the authors of Le Pianiste, and they believed that its pernicious influence did not extend to the fourth generation, or young pianists like Chopin and Liszt. They saw virtuosity as an issue stemming from the 1820s, something that almost exclusively affected musicians who had formed their reputations then, like

Frédéric Kalkbrenner, Ignaz Moscheles, Carl Czerny, Henri Bertini, Johann-Peter Pixis, and

Ferdinand Hérold. As members of the troisième époque themselves, Lemoine and Chaulieu had been contending with virtuosity for most of their careers. Le Pianiste’s discussion of this generation of pianists helps to redefine virtuosity and its effects on pianism in France in the

1820s and early 1830s, and opens a window to French musical politics from the 1820s that not only have been largely forgotten, but under whose influence ideas about virtuosity were formed in the 1830s and later.

Musicologists tend to trace the first backlash against nineteenth-century pianistic virtuosity to the 1830s. Most of this opposition stems from German sources, and has been understood to be a product of German romantic movements.1 Most of these sources suggest that

1 See Alexander Stefaniak,“‘Poetic Virtuosity’: Robert Schumann as a Critic and Composer of Virtuoso Instrumental Music,” Ph.D dissertation (University of Rochester, 2012), 5–9 for more information. 110 virtuosity was a Parisian problem that needed to be quelled. In an enlightening study, Dana

Gooley shows how virtuosity in Germany in the 1840s was negatively connected to what he sees as provincial fears of flamboyant, selfish city folk that live in Paris.2 This is certainly one prominent flavor of anti-virtuosity sentiment, but it has entirely overshadowed earlier French movements against virtuosity that come to light in Le Pianiste.

Much of this anti-virtuosity narrative is based on the presence of articles in Robert

Schumann’s Neue Zeitschrift für Musik and Schlesinger’s Gazette musicale that denounce the practice. But using the press as a tool in this case can skew results because music journalism was much more common in the 1830s than it was in the 1820s. The preponderance of this evidence from the 1830s may simply be due to a proliferation of sources instead of a change of ideas. That two new music journals would separately invent a new style of “acerbic” criticism in different countries and direct it toward certain pianists suggests first, that this style of writing was familiar, and second, that the objects of these invectives were not above reproach.3

Le Pianiste not only provides new information about anti-virtuosity movements in the

1820s, but it shows them in an entirely French context, outlining important events and attitudes about virtuosity that do not appear in any modern literature. As its authors explained it, virtuosity, or a style of playing that prized rapid passagework above all else, had been a problem since it had come to France in 1821. They described this style as an overwhelming preference for tours d’adresse, translatable as “feats of skill” or “tricks,” and they warned against music that only “jumped to the eyes,” or music that looked exciting on paper but did not translate to

2 Dana Gooley, “The Battle Against Instrumental Virtuosity,” Franz Liszt and His World, edited by Christopher H. Gibbs and Dana Gooley (Princeton and Oxford: Princeton University Press, 2006), 75–111. 3 Katharine Ellis argues about who set this precedent, the Gazette musicale or the Neue Zeitschrift für Musik. Katharine Ellis, Music Criticism in Nineteenth-Century France: ‘La Revue et Gazette musicale de Paris,’ 1834–80 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1995), 143n. 111 anything aurally interesting.4 This music was favored by “bourgeois amateurs” but “true lovers” knew something more meaningful.5 Le Pianiste insisted that Chaulieu and others had been fighting against this style in their compositions for a while.

Further, the limits and categories of Le Pianiste’s discussions differ from these better- known German sources. Le Pianiste did not focus on denouncing certain genres — piano variations, for one — as the Gazette did.6 Neither did its authors focus on a type of pianist called a “virtuoso,” as did Schumann.7 Instead, they considered virtuosity to be a wide-ranging trend divorced from any one genre or person, and focused on explaining how every pianist of their generation contended with it by inventing, appropriating, rejecting, or subverting virtuosity at various times in their careers. This issue was deeply personal for Lemoine and Chaulieu, who explained how this change in pianism had irreparably altered the meaning of music in the public imagination. The story the journal tells is not comprehensive, as it is found buried within biographical articles about pianists and in reviews. Nevertheless, it is compelling, and it helps to explain new aspects about the careers of the pianists in the troisième époque, illustrate Le

Pianiste’s aesthetic, and reveal new information about French music and culture in this largely unstudied decade.

4 Le Pianiste passim, and an 1, 52. 5 Le Pianiste an 1, 53 and an 2, 95. 6 Katharine Ellis, Music Criticism in Nineteenth-Century France: ‘La Revue et Gazette musicale de Paris,’ 1834–80 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1995), 143. 7 Leon Plantinga, Schumann as Critic (New Haven and London: Yale University Press, 1967). Much of my understanding about the NZfM comes from Plantinga, who argues that Schumann was against “virtuosos.” 112

Ignaz Moscheles’s Parisian Debut

Le Pianiste credited one person with bringing virtuosity to Paris: the Bohemian pianist

Ignaz Moscheles (1794–1870).8 As mentioned in the previous chapter, Lemoine and Chaulieu described the world of their youth as a place where “Hummel was not yet known, [and]

Beethoven was not yet understood.”9 This insulated world, as they explain it, was ripped apart by the 1821 debut of Ignaz Mocheles in Paris, which was a catalyst for profound changes in the art of piano, and marked the starting point of a rise in preference for virtuosic passagework.10 Le

Pianiste believed that the rest of the decade was spent negotiating the reverberations left by this concert, and the journal’s discussion of Moscheles’s music formed the centerpiece of its history and condemnation of virtuosity.

Lemoine and Chaulieu still remembered Moscheles’s debut concert vividly in 1834:

“What pianist could forget this first concert given at Salle Favart, where the variations on

Marche Alexandre gave an impression so widely felt and so new!”11 Lemoine explained further,

“Moscheles, uniting a prodigious execution and a composition well-calculated for effects, a clever orchestration, a perfect elegance and taste, produced a durable sensation.”12 The concert was described as a “revolution achieved in one night.”13 Le Pianiste was not alone in attaching importance to this concert, either. Fétis also identified Moscheles’s debut as a seminal event,

8 Moscheles lived in Bohemia until 1808; Vienna 1808–1821; London 1821–1846; Leipzig 1846–1870. For more information see, Fétis, Mark Kroll, Ignaz Moscheles and the Changing World of Musical Europe (Rochester: Boydell and Brewer, 2014), and Jerome Roche, “Ignaz Moscheles, 1794–1870,” The Musical Times 111/1525 (Mar., 1970), 264–266. Jerome Roche is Moscheles’s great-great grandson. 9 Le Pianiste an 2, 60. 10 Ibid. 11 “Quel pianiste aurait oublié ce premier concert qu’il donna à la salle Favart, où les variations sur la Marche d’Alexandre [op. 32] firent une impression si nouvelle et si générale!” Ibid. 12 “Mochelès, unissant à une exécution prodigieuse une composition bien calculée pour les effets, une orchestration habile, une grâce et un goût parfaits, prodiosit une sensation durable.” Ibid. 13 “[...] tout à coup Moschelès, et une révolution musicale s’opéra en une soirée, pour ainsi dire.” Ibid. 113 noting in his Biographie universelle, “he arrived in Paris, where the newness of his playing produced a great sensation, and was the signal of a transformation in the art of playing the piano.”14 Both accounts speak to a profound sense of change with words like “transformation” or

“revolution.”

What exactly was different about Moscheles’s playing is not well-explained, but it clearly involved the prevalence and meaning of tours d’adresse. As Lemoine and Chaulieu told the story, tours d’adresse had always been used in piano performance, but they did not play a significant role before Moscheles’s concert. The journal explained, “at the beginning of the nineteenth century, a maker of tours d’adresse on the piano was the equal of a magician or a tightrope walker. One admired his skill, one laughed, and then it was over.”15 It may be that tours d’adresse were featured more prominently or that Moscheles was better at them, judging from

Lemoine’s claim that Moscheles had combined a “prodigious execution” with a “composition well-calculated for effects.”16

It is clear from the descriptions of Moscheles’s imitators, however, that rapid passagework formed the heart of his performance, or at least, the most exciting part. His tours d’adresse were so exceptional that people wanted to imitate them, which Le Pianiste alleged had never happened before.17 The journal lamented that the effort to emulate Moscheles had overwhelmed pianism in the city, and Lemoine argued that while it had been “a good fortune

14 “Il arriva à Paris, où la nouveauté de son jeu produisit une vive sensation, et fut le signal d’une transformation dans l’art de jouer du piano.” François-Joseph Fétis, Biographie universelle des musiciens 1st edition, vol 6, 472. 15 “[...] au commencement du XIXe siècle — un faiseur de tours d’adresse sur le piano était à l’égal d’un joueur de gobelets ou d’un danseur de corde. — On admirait son adresse, on riait, et tout était fini.” Le Pianiste an 1, 81. 16 “Mochelès, unissant à une exécution prodigieuse une composition bien calculée pour les effets, une orchestration habile, une grâce et un goût parfaits, prodiosit une sensation durable.” Le Pianiste an 2, 60. 17 “L’idée ne venait à personne de l’imiter.” Le Pianiste an 1, 81. 114 regarding the technique of the instrument,” it had been a “misfortune for art.”18 It reduced pianism into a mechanical act of putting one’s fingers in the right places: “nearly all pianists transformed the study of the piano into a mere game of cup-and-ball [emphasis original].”19 He added, “Moscheles was the first guilty in this affair.”20

This new style was most immediately and successfully copied by one young pianist,

Henri Herz, just eighteen years of age in 1821. According to Lemoine, Herz was so inspired by

Moscheles’s playing that he began to write and play in a new “bravura” style modeled after him.21 Lemoine called Herz “the happy and rash imitator of Moscheles.”22 One of Herz’s early works, the wildly popular La Fanchette, was “like the act of declaration of a new sect.”23 This new style appears to have changed audience members’ focus at concerts as well. Lemoine, at least, thought that the public became more interested in the sight of someone performing rapid piano passages than the sound of what was played, because he alleged that people came to “see

Henry Herz play,” for instance [emphasis original].24

The irony of this tale for Le Pianiste was that Moscheles extinguished the style he had originated in his own playing, but it continued to kindle in Paris. Moscheles left France some months after his concert and moved to London. There he changed his style into something of which Le Pianiste approved, more learned and classical and based on the study of great

18 “Ce fut un malheur relativement à l’art, il est vrai de le dire, mais ce fut un bonheur relativement au mécanisme de l’instrument [...]” Ibid. 19 “[...] presque tous les pianistes transformaient l’étude du piano en un jeu de bilboquet [...]” Ibid. This idea is repeated in an 2, 115. The French version of cup-and-ball features a carved rod and a ball with a hole in it. 20 “Mochelès est le premier coupable dans cette affaire.” Ibid. 21 Ibid. 22 “[...] nous portions aux nues l’heureux et téméraire imitateur de Moschelès.” Ibid. 23 “[...] qui fut comme l’acte de déclaration d’une nouvelle secte.” Ibid. 24 “C’était à qui voudrait voir jouer Henry Herz.” Ibid. 115 masters.25 His newer works were “correct, elegant, educated,” and much more than “the work of a plume.”26 But Paris did not evolve with him, and his older style remained popular there.

Lemoine mused, “He must have been very surprised, this excellent and classic artist, when, some years later, he could see the havoc that he had caused at his first appearance in Paris! Because the

French, lovers of the new, had pushed the taste for tours d’adresse to excess, and had vanquished

Moscheles himself!”27 Le Pianiste likened him to a malevolent being who threw a “bone of contention and disappeared afterward.”28

During the time when the “taste for tours d’adresse” was increasing in Paris, however, there remained a small contingent of pianists who fought against this trend of mechanistic, virtuosic playing. The two leaders of this effort, according to Lemoine, were none other than

Chaulieu and Hérold: “Vainly Hérold and Chaulieu fought, in this era, in their salon compositions, against this encroachment whose excess frightened them; spirit vainly burned in one, correction in the other; brilliance in both of them; the general clamor [haro] fell against sonatas, new and old, they were totally demonetized,” Lemoine explained.29 While it may seem

25 Ibid. 26 “[...] correct, élégant, instruit [ ...]” Le Pianiste an 2, 59. “[...] qu’il est difficile de les attribuer au seul travail de la plume.” Le Pianiste an 2, 59. 27 “Il dut être bien étonné, cet excellent et classique artiste, lorsque, quelques années après, il put voir le ravage qu’avait causé sa première apparition à Paris! Car le Français, amant de nouveau, avait poussé jusqu’à l’excès le goût des tours d‘adresse, et avait vaincu Mochelès lui-même!” Le Pianiste an 2, 60. 28 “[...] semblable à ces êtres malfaisans qui jettent une pomme de discorde et disparaissent après.” Ibid. 29 “Vainement Hérold et Chaulieu luttaient, à cette époque, dans leurs compositions de salon, contre cet envahissement dont l’excès les effrayait; vainement l’esprit brilla dans l’un, la correction dans l’autre, le brillant dans tous les deux; le haro général tomba d’abord sur les sonates; jeunes et vieilles, elles furent démonétisées d’un coup [emphasis original].” Ibid. The final part of this passages repeats an idea that Chaulieu expressed elsewhere that sonatas had been made so unpopular that no publisher would buy them, but here the blame is ascribed to the rise of virtuosity that is absent in other iterations. 116 to us that Chaulieu’s output consisted mainly of insignificant salon pieces, such pieces were clearly meant to counter the trend of tours d’adresse and signal anti-virtuosity sentiment.30

Given the well-established anti-virtuosity climate of the 1830s, it might be easy to question Lemoine and Chaulieu’s reliability as narrators here, since this story, printed in 1834, puts Hérold and Chaulieu in a good light. But the detail about Hérold and Chaulieu’s efforts to fight against virtuosity in the 1820s is one that fits so well within Le Pianiste’s larger narrative, it seems impossible that it was fabricated to flatter them retrospectively. Instead, it explains a central aspect of Lemoine and Chaulieu’s aesthetic and Le Pianiste as a whole. In addition,

Lemoine admitted that Hérold and Chaulieu’s efforts inadvertently caused a “flood” of ephemeral works like variations that the journal disliked, which points to the evidence of a struggle to understand and piece together the events of their lives, both good and bad.31

It was with this spirit that Lemoine and Chaulieu explained to their readers the role that virtuosity played in Moscheles’s early success, and his subsequent abandonment of that style.

This tale was surely meant to be all the more powerful because the man who created the interest in tours d’adresse had left this style almost immediately. “This whole era of the history of the piano,” Le Pianiste summarized, “was the consequence of a chance circumstance: the first voyage of Moscheles to Paris, and then the great facility of Herz’s execution.”32 The journal’s

30 But these efforts created another problem, because they led to the dominance of salon pieces like opera variations in the Parisian market. Le Pianiste’s complex views about salon music will be discussed in further detail in a subsequent chapter. The journal complained about how Chaulieu and Hérold’s work resulted in an “[...] énorme quantité de pièces fugitives de toutes grandeurs et de toutes qualités, dont nous fûmes et sommes encore inondés.” Ibid. 31 Ibid. 32 “Toute cette époque de l’histoire du piano fut la conséquence d’une circonstance fortuite, savoir: le premier voyage de Mochelès à Paris, puis la grande facilité d’exécution de H. Herz.” Ibid. 117 discussion of the remaining members of the troisième époque opens a window to the far-reaching effects of this “chance circumstance.”

Carl Czerny, Variety, and Speed

For Le Pianiste, if Moscheles had created a new interest in tours d’adresse in Paris, and

Herz had immediately copied him, then Carl Czerny (1791–1857) was seen as pushing this style unceasingly into the 1830s through the publication and import of his works into France.33 Le

Pianiste viewed him with suspicion as one of the propagators of bad taste, and argued that

Czerny had helped “put the school of piano on a wrong path.”34 While the authors of Le Pianiste would have disagreed with much of Robert Schumann’s criticism, they would have agreed with

Schumann when he wrote that Czerny was responsible for “insipid virtuosity.”35

Czerny had capitalized on the fashion for tours d’adresse in the 1820s, churning out a stream of works that Lemoine and Chaulieu thought were uninspired. In this case, the dominant style of the 1820s was described as a preference for “agility” over anything else and “an unhappy mania for putting as many notes as possible into a given time.”36 This style “encumbered trade” so that Czerny’s music was everywhere, and forced into Parisian life.37 Czerny wrote too many

33 Czerny is generally remembered today for his relationship with Beethoven, for being young Liszt’s teacher in Vienna, and for his indefatigable pedagogy, evidenced by the vast amount of treatises and methods for piano he published, such as The School of Velocity (op. 299), The Art of Improvisation (op. 200), and The Art of Finger Dexterity (op. 740). He is better known for being a pedagogue than a composer, but a recent book has attempted to revive Czerny’s reputation as a composer of merit. David Gramit, ed., Beyond ‘The Art of Finger Dexterity’: Reassessing Carl Czerny (Rochester, NY: University of Rochester Press, 2008). 34 “Czerny, qui, à notre avis, a mis l’école du piano dans une mauvaise route.” Le Pianiste an 1 34. 35 cited in Plantinga, Schumann as Critic (New Haven and London: Yale University Press, 1967), 17. 36 “[...] cette malheureuse manie de faire, dans un temps donné, le plus de notes possible.” Le Pianiste an 1, 22 37 “Une certaine cotterie [...] d'en encombrer tellement le commerce qu'on les rencontre partout.” Le Pianiste an 1, 22. It is not clear to what publisher Le Pianiste was referring, but judging by the amount of Czerny works published by one publisher over others, the comment may refer to the publishing firm of Richault. See Bibliographie de la France. 118 works for Le Pianiste’s taste, and its authors were astonished that he had opus numbers in the

300s in the 1830s (by the end of his life the opus numbers exceeded 860).38 This fecundity was frowned upon and called “oppressive,” because Le Pianiste felt the quality of his works suffered for it. Just as the journal had described virtuosic works as merely the “work of a plume,” it accused Czerny of writing in currente calamo, with running pen and without deep reflection.39

The problem with this sort of music for Le Pianiste was that it was static. It only focused on tours d’adresse, and even if this virtuosic passagework was sometimes exciting, the incessant presence of it made music monotonous: “This highly desirable variety of style, of musical color, of genres, from the gay to the severe, we scarcely find in the works of Ch. Czerny, and his dramatic intentions are almost nil.”40 The journal complained that Czerny’s lengthy Étude de la vélocité with its forty pieces, was, “nothing but a method for roulades,” or runs (see Example

3.1).41 All of these études also had “800 notes per minute” and this made speed the rule, rather than the exception.42 Le Pianiste joked that the only variety in Czerny’s works was found in his titles (“[His work] would be enough to nourish all the pianists of the present and the future, by the number and variety of his productions: variety, we say, in the title of the works, rondos, variations, sonatas, etc., etc”) and that he had developed shorthand symbols so that his copyist

38 see Stephan Lindeman and George Barth, “Carl Czerny,” Grove Music Online for a list of Czerny’s works. 39 Le Pianiste an 1, 37 [sic] (61). 40 “Mais cette variété tant désirable du style, de la couleur musicale, des genres, depuis le gai jusqu'au sévère, on n'en trouve guère dans les ouvrages de Ch. Czerny, et ses intentions dramatiques sont presque nulles.” Le Pianiste an 1, 23. Le Pianiste also joked that the only variety found in Czerny’s music was in his titles. 41 “A l’appui de ce que nous venons de dire, voici l’ouvrage que nous annonçons, et qui n’est autre chose qu’une méthode de roulades, une boîte à passages, arrivant un peu tarde; car, Dieu merci, la roulade est en baisse.” Le Pianiste an 1, 23. It may be that Czerny had a different sort of étude in mind than the one that Le Pianiste expected. Czerny’s appear to be intended only for private study, whereas Le Pianiste believed that the étude was an intimate genre that held the key to a composer’s mind and unique style. For more on the history of études, see Peter Ganz, “The Development of the Etude,” Ph.D. dissertation (Northwestern University, 1960). For more on Le Pianiste’s ideas about études, please see the next chapter. 42 “[...] presque toutes ces études exigent 800 notes à la minute [...]” Le Pianiste an 1, 23. 119 would fill in various patterns where he indicated (“We heard of a bet proposed that Czerny had signs suited between him and his copyist to represent the main [types of] passages: this pleasantry is well-founded, and we readily believe in it.”).43

43 “[...] il suffirait à la consommation de tous les pianistes présens et futurs, par le nombre et la variété de de ses productions: variété, disons–nous, dans le titre de ses ouvrages, rondos, variations, sonates, etc., etc.” and “Nous avons entendu proposer le pari que Czerny avait des signes convenus entre lui et son copiste, pour représenter les principaux passages: cette plaisanterie est fondée, et nous y croyons sans peine.” Le Pianiste an 1, 23. 120

For the most part, other reviews of Czerny’s music repeat the idea that his music was overwhelmed with meaningless notes, and was unbalanced and unidimensional. For instance, a review of his Norma variations (op. 281) expressed that, like his other works, it “contains all the inseparable qualities and defects of the author. Sometimes noisy, sometimes diffuse, it nearly always tires the listener, either by the mass of chords or by the excessive quantity of notes.”44 His op. 176 Rondoletto for 4 hands on “Là ci darem la mano,” reissued to coincide with the reprise of Don Giovanni at the Opéra, was called “overloaded with ornaments in bad taste.”45 Likewise his Grande sonate d’étude [op. 268] was a “confused mass of difficulties heaped without charm, without grace, [...] it seems like one of those vast virgin forests of the new world, where the confusion is such that the voyage cannot find any known path.”46 In response to Czerny’s op.

329, variations for four hands on Jean Helling, Le Pianiste reported a woman’s comment that

“one can compare the fluency of Czerny to a tap of lukewarm water that never stops.”47 This witticism was later repeated and attributed to “one of the editors” and became the bon mot to describe Czerny.

However, Le Pianiste believed that a musician could reform himself. Lemoine and

Chaulieu implored Czerny to abandon this florid style and remake himself as Moscheles had done. When they found a work that seemed to show Czerny had changed his style, they praised

44 “Cet ouvrage renferme tous les défauts et toutes les qualités inséparables du talent de l’auteur. Tantôt bruyant, tantôt diffus, il fatigue presque toujours l’auditeur, soit par des masses d’accords, soit par une quantité excessive de notes.” Le Pianiste an 1, 29. 45 “[...] surchargé d’ornemens de mauvais goût.” Le Pianiste an 1, 125. 46 “[...] amas confus de difficultés entassées sans charme, sans grace, [sic ...] on dirait une de ces vastes forêts vierges du nouveau monde, où la confusion est telle que le voyage n’y trouve aucun chemin tracé.” Le Pianiste an 1, 183. 47 “Une dame disait qu’on pourrait comparer la faconde de Czerny à un robinet d’eau tiède qui n’arrête jamais.” Le Pianiste an 1, 125. 121 him.48 Czerny’s op. 307 Variations for piano four hands, on the final chorus of Le Serment

[Auber] showed promise, free of the usual problems that Le Pianiste found in his work: “It is charming from beginning to end. None of the torrents of notes, none of the banal phrases for which one can so often reproach in this writer” (see Example 3.2).49 The journal referred to the third variation, shown below, for its “original manner” and for the way the “right hand of the second part plays a pretty melody in the upper register of the piano.”50

48 Le Pianiste an 1, 29. 49 “[...] il est charmant du commencement à la fin. Point de ces torrens de notes, point de ces phrases banales qu’on peut si souvent reprocher à cet écrivain.” Le Pianiste an 1, 157. 50 “[...] manière originale et dans laquelle la main droite de la 2me partie exécute un joli chant dans le haut du piano.” Ibid. 122

The way that Lemoine and Chaulieu urged people to abandon the style of tours d’adresse suggests that they believed this style was separate from individual expression. Lemoine and

Chaulieu thought that musicians had their own unique and personal voice, something they called talent or ability.51 It seems that tours d’adresse, however, were not thought to be a part of someone’s talent, but rather a response to external stimuli from a particular time. Whereas Le

Pianiste prized the novel, the personal, and the intimate in music, the fashion for tours d’adresse in the 1820s was rooted in imitation and formulas. Prior to Moscheles, “the idea had never before come to anyone to imitate,” Le Pianiste argued.52 Czerny’s idea, especially, was to formalize, categorize, and define them, and this was, for Le Pianiste, a real anathema to its idea of musical

“progress.” A distaste for imitation and reproduction appears to lie at the heart of Le Pianiste’s views on virtuosity.

Johann-Peter Pixis, Henri Bertini, and Resistance

For Lemoine and Chaulieu, other pianists’ careers were defined by how they had resisted the pull of virtuosity, such as Johann-Peter (Jean-Pierre) Pixis (1788–1874) and Henri Bertini jeune (1798–1876). While Pixis is now considered to be a piano virtuoso, Le Pianiste viewed him as a serious composer of elevated works and compared him to Beethoven and Hummel.53 As a result of the penchant for virtuosity in the 1820s, Pixis’s reputation had floundered, but Le

51 See for instance Le Pianiste an 1, 94 and Le Pianiste an 2, 4. 52 “L’idée ne venait à personne de l’imiter.” Le Pianiste an 1, 81. 53 He is included, for instance, in Jeffrey Kallberg’s compendium, Music of the Parisian Piano Virtuosos. In a passage that seems to capture Pixis’s secondary status in the modern historical imagination, Arthur Loesser called him the “weak sister” in the Hexaméron, the famous charity piece where six pianists wrote a variation on a theme from Il Puritani: “She [Princess Belgiojoso] induced six leading pianists of the moment to participate in the same concert; they were, besides Liszt and Thalberg, Chopin, Henri Herz, J. P. Pixis (the weak sister of the bunch), and Carl Czerny...” Arthur Loesser, Men, Women and Pianos: A Social History (New York: Dover, 1990 [1954]), 373. 124

Pianiste hoped that his non-virtuosic music could be reclaimed in the 1830s and help right public taste.54 Pixis was a former student of Johann Georg Albrechtsberger, the influential Viennese theorist and pedagogue, and he had moved to Paris from Vienna in 1824.55 Le Pianiste explained that Pixis had the unusual distinction of having been more famous in Paris before he arrived; his good reputation was formed by his two Polonaises in F and his violin piano duet in E minor.56

“But since his arrival in Paris,” Le Pianiste explained, “either by the jealousy of his competitors, or by some other motive, he did not retain the rank where his talents had placed him, and where he ought to remain.”57 While overtly, his faded reputation was attributed to “jealousy” or “some other motive,” it is clear from the language used to characterize Pixis’s music that Le Pianiste also blamed the taste for tours d’adresse.

Le Pianiste described Pixis’s music as having an “elevated style,” “rich harmonic effects,” and noted that “when he writes piano music, he seems to always have an orchestra in his

54 As it turned out, Pixis composed less and less and devoted his attention to promoting the singing career of his foster-daughter, Francella Pixis. Fétis, Biographie universelle des musiciens vol. 7 (Bruxelles: 1837), 260. 55 The Harmonicon 40 (London: 1826), 65. 56 Judging from Le Pianiste’s list of best Pixis works, the Polonaises are probably Polonaise brillante sur un air favori de Charles Keller (in f), op. 31 c. 1825; and a polonaise on Lodoïska, op. 34; c. 1823. The “duet” is probably a sonata, one of opp. 24, 30, or 62. Le Pianiste also mentioned some operas. “[...] l’auteur de l’opéra allemand que nous avons applaudi à Paris il y a quelques années.” (Le Pianiste an 1, 52). The operas heard may have been his Almazinde or Der Zauberspruch, but was probably Bibiana, which Fétis notes was performed in 1831: Fétis, Biographie universelle des musiciens vol. 7 (Bruxelles: 1837), 260. 57 “Mais depuis son arrivée à Paris, soit qu’il excitât la jalousie se des compétiteurs, soit tout autre motif, il ne conserva pas le rang où ses talens l’avaient placé, et où ils auraient dû le maintenir.” Le Pianiste an 1, 52. It is curious that Le Pianiste reported that Pixis’s non-virtuosic music was popular in France before 1824 because it argued previously that Moscheles’s 1821 debut had overwhelmed Paris with a taste for tours d’adresse. This apparent inconsistency can be explained by the date of Herz’s La Fanchette, however. La Fanchette, the piece modeled after Moscheles whose success was thought to cement or represent a tangible change in Parisian taste, was published in 1823. According to Le Pianiste’s dates, then, there was a period of a few years after Moscheles’s concert before virtuosity overwhelmed the scene, and this delay allowed for Pixis to gain a short-lived following in Paris. 125 head.”58 Le Pianiste argued that Pixis’s music was “full of these difficulties that do not jump to the eyes and do not make the bourgeois amateurs swoon with ease [emphasis original].”59 Music that “jumped to the eyes” referred to visual musical elements that appeared dazzling on paper, like tours d’adresse, but that presumably did not please the learned ear. Pixis’s music, then, was full of more subtle difficulties that were not immediately apparent when looking at a score, but revealed upon listening.60 While the “bourgeois amateurs” mentioned did not understand Pixis’s music, the journal noted that it was appreciated by “artists and true amateurs (lovers), and especially musicians that are not only pianists.”61

While Le Pianiste lauded Pixis for his serious music, it also complained that sometimes his music was too structurally complex. Pixis’s music often held a layered sense of phrase or period that sometimes harmed the enjoyment of it, the journal noted. His phrases were uneven, halted by “commas, semi-colons, or colons;” he even employed parenthetical phrases inside the longer line, and this caused the performer and listener to lose the sense of the phrase.62 At other times, he went too far the other way, and his music exhibited traits of the school his music apparently opposed. Le Pianiste wrote that his op. 122 air martiale on I Capuleti [Bellini] “feels too much like the school of Czerny and [is] particularly appropriate for pianists who are makers

58 “[...] genre élevé [...]” and “[...]remplis de riches effets d’harmonie [...]” Le Pianiste an 1, 52. “[...] lorsqu’il écrit de la musique de piano, nous semble toujours avoir un orchestra dans la tête.” Le Pianiste an 1, 53. His best works according to Le Pianiste were a series of sonata concertantes (op. 14, 24, 30, 62), trios (op. 76, 86, 118), and solo works, a polonaise (op. 31; c. 1825), a polonaise on Lodoïska (op. 34; c. 1823), and a mélange on airs from Spohr’s Faustus (op. 88; 1826). Identification was aided by John S. Sainsbury, Dictionary of Musicians from the Earliest Ages to the Present Time vol 2 (London: 1824). 59 “Oui, et surtout remplis de ces difficultés qui ne sautent point aux yeux et ne font point pâmer d’aise les amateurs bourgeois.” Le Pianiste an 1, 52. 60 Of course, any decent musician has a “mind’s ear” that can imagine the sound of a score, but rapid passagework is much more easily recognizable than, say, subtle harmonic motion. 61 “[...] les artistes, les vrais amateurs, et surtout les musiciens qui ne sont pas seulement pianistes.” Le Pianiste an 1, 53. 62 “Ou bien, il entre dans un trait, il le poursuit en mêmes valeurs, tout d’une haleine, et si long-temps, que l’executant perd la respiration, et l’auditeur, le sens de la phrase.” Ibid. 126 of notes [emphasis mine].”63 The first three variations “resembled an étude” because of their overabundance of “scales [traits], double notes, chromatics, and octaves,” and the adagio was nothing more than a “series of ornaments and roulades.”64

Le Pianiste’s descriptions of Pixis as a composer of deep reflection and complexity are curious because they seem entirely opposite to how he was remembered. An 1860 article in The

Musical World, for instance, baldly stated that Pixis was a “very bad composer of pianoforte music” who wrote “exceedingly poor fantasias.”65 While an extended study of Pixis’s music that might explain the disparities in the reception of his music would lie beyond the scope of the present work, it is notable that Lemoine and Chaulieu hoped that Pixis’s music would help return the predominant taste in France to a good and substantial style. Le Pianiste believed that Pixis was a part of the group of musicians that would help to create a “happy revolution of the piano in

France” or a turn away from tours d’adresse and toward something of more substance; the others were Kalkbrenner, Hiller, Chopin, and Henri Bertini.66

! Whereas Pixis was a victim of changing tastes, Henri Bertini jeune was a crusader against them.67 Bertini was a French musician whose music, Le Pianiste believed, might provide an alternative to the virtuosic style. He had a reputation for having avoided the trend for tours d’adresse in the 1820s and for having remained devoted to his own musical voice. Fétis, for instance, noted in his Biographie universelle, “as a composer, he [Bertini] deserves special

63 “Ce morceau, au total, sent trop l’école de Czerny et convient particulièrement aux pianistes faiseurs de notes.” Le Pianiste an 1, 36 [sic] (60). 64 “[...] les premières variations en traits, doubles notes, octaves et chromatiques, ressemblent un peu à un receuil d’études. [...] L’adagio présente une série d’ornamens et de roulades un peu trop continus.” Le Pianiste an 1, 36 [sic] (60). 65 The Musical World, 25 August 1860, 541. 66 “[...] cette heureuse révolution du piano en France.” Le Pianiste an 1, 53. 67 For more on Bertini, see Pascal Beyls, Henri Bertini: Pianiste virtuose et compositeur de musique (Grenoble: n.p., 1999) and Antoine-François Marmontel, Les Pianistes célèbres (Paris, 1878). 127 mention, for having resisted the drive of fashion, and having made a serious style that allies itself well with harmonic and melodic forms of a fine and delicate taste.”68 Similarly, Antoine-François

Marmontel explained that Bertini “never deviated from his path to follow fluctuations of taste and fashion.”69

In Le Pianiste, Bertini was hailed as an important composer who worked to make lasting works of art in an elevated style. The journal described his works as “high concept” music with

“prodigious effect[s].”70 Even his salon music was written “without pretension,” his concerts were “appreciated by true amateurs [lovers],” and his playing, “full of force, energy, and lightness,” placed him among the “five or six best pianists in Europe.”71 Le Pianiste heralded

Bertini’s commitment to serious music and noted his sacrifice in doing so, suggesting that Bertini could have been more wealthy by writing more fashionable works.72 He was praised for his

“constancy,” his “beautiful task,” and for being “an enemy to all charlatanism.”73

This praise in Le Pianiste was not disinterested, however. The sale of Bertini’s music would benefit Lemoine monetarily because he was one of Bertini’s main publishers. Like most composers of his time, Bertini did not hold an exclusive contract with Lemoine, but Lemoine published enough of his music that he could be considered a house composer. The series of

68 “Comme compositeur, il mérite une mention particulière, pour avoir su résister à l’entraînement de la mode, et s’être fait un style grave qui s’allie fort bien avec des formes mélodiques et harmoniques d’un goût fin et délicat.” Fétis, Biographie universelle des musiciens vol. 2 (Bruxelles: 1836), 170. 69 “[...] il ne s’est jamais écarté de sa voie pour suivre les fluctuations de goût et de la mode.” Antoine-François Marmontel, Les Pianistes célèbres (Tours: 1887), 24. 70 “[...] haute conception et d’un effect prodigieux.” Le Pianiste an 1, 19. 71 Review of air varié on Ma Normandie [Bérat] (op. 88); Le Pianiste an 1, 176 . “M. Bertini a fait entendre quelques-uns de ces grands Caprices [...]. Ce genre de composition, un peu trop sérieux pour le public vulgaire, a été apprécié par les vrais amateurs [...].” Le Pianiste an 2, 95, review of Société musicale concert 5 April 1835. “H. Bertini, par son exécution pleine de force, d’énergie et de légèreté, s’est placé parmi les cinq ou six premiers pianistes de l’Europe.” Le Pianiste an 1, 20. 72 Le Pianiste an 1, 20. 73 “C’est une belle tâche que celle qu’a enterprise H. Bertini; qu’il la continue avec constance.” Le Pianiste an 1, 19. “[...] artiste autant ennemi du charlatanisme.” Le Pianiste an 1, 154. 128 positive reviews found in Le Pianiste reinforces the effects of publishing contracts on journalism: the journal included announcements for each of Bertini’s new pieces, as well as new editions and fascicles as Lemoine published them. However, despite this commercial arrangement, these articles describe the fight against the style of the 1820s that goes far beyond

Bertini himself. These reviews also justified Lemoine’s choices in publishing and revealed his own beliefs about the moral superiority of his business. In some ways, many of the arguments for

Bertini’s music reflect what Lemoine thought of himself as an editor.

In one case, the sacrifice that Bertini had made by writing serious works was mapped onto Lemoine, because he, it was suggested, had abandoned potential profits by choosing to eschew fashion:

There is more courage than one thinks in the world of music lovers, to engage in this serious and noble style of compositions that yield more glory than money. A publisher who gives enormous sums for an air varié destined to run through the salons, hardly dares to risk the engraving of voluminous pieces that can only be performed at the gatherings where the accompanists are excellent, and the listeners are attentive. And yet, wouldn’t it be unfortunate if such beautiful compositions remained in the mind of such a distinguished artist!74

Lemoine’s name is never mentioned, of course, but this passage is both a celebration of and a justification for the virtue of Lemoine’s business. Lemoine apparently believed that his own publications were meant for serious artists and elite gatherings where the audience truly

“listened,” and that he was brave for chasing long-term glory instead of money.75 Further, the

74 “[...] c’est qu’il y a plus de courage qu’on ne le croit dans le monde d’amateurs, à se livrer à ce genre de compositions graves et nobles qui rapportent plus de gloire que d’argent. Un éditeur qui donne des sommes énormes pour un air varié destiné à courir les salons, ose à peine risquer la gravure des morceaux volumineux qui ne peuvent s’exécuter que dans des réunions où les accompagnateurs sont excellens, et les auditeurs attentifs. Et pourtant, ne serait il pas désolant que de si belles compositions restassent dans les cartons d’un artiste aussi distingue!” Le Pianiste an 1, 20. 75 This strategy may have helped the Lemoine house survive to this day. For instance, the firm still owns the copyright to Berlioz’s orchestration treatise, a historically significant work that lacks commercial viability. 129 choice given, either to capitulate to monetary demands as a publisher or to endure hardship for publishing less commercial works, illustrates the financial realities of a musician and publisher in a France where patronage had almost ceased to exist.

While some reviews of Bertini’s works in Le Pianiste are little more than announcements for new publications, others are more substantial. The way that some pieces seem to have elicited contemplation about the depths of the human condition give an idea of what Le Pianiste may have valued in Bertini’s music. For instance, a review of Bertini’s Three Nocturnes,

L’Espérance, Les Regrets, and Le Calme, op. 87, invoked high-minded Romantic poetic tropes.

The first was described as a “noble inspiration,” the second, “eloquent pain.”76 The third was an expression of “tranquility.” But Le Pianiste clarified, it was

not the tranquility of the indifferent, but that of a man whose soul is fatigued from the passions of which he has been a victim; and who, returned from all illusions, penetrated by the nothingness of human things, rests like Lucretia at the edge of a turbulent sea, but shielded from storms. There, he waits with calm for the term of all his troubles. There is in this interrupted, monotone bass, all the memory of the past agonies, and in this chorale in the right hand, all the resignation of the true philosopher.77

Overall the work “touched the sublime.”78

Bertini’s importance in Le Pianiste may be exaggerated because of his relationship to

Lemoine’s publishing house, but the rival Gazette musicale celebrated Bertini’s work for nearly identical reasons.79 The Gazette, in promoting what Ellis calls high “German

76 “[...] noble inspiration [...]” and “[...] douleur parlante [...]” Le Pianiste an 1, 154. 77 “[...] non pas cette tranquillité de l’indifférent, mais celle de l’homme dont l’âme est fatiguée par les passions dont il a été la victime; et qui, revenu de toutes les illusions, pénétré de néant des choses humaines, se repose comme Lucrèce au bord d’une mer agitée, mais à l’abri des orages. Là, il attend avec calme le terme de tous ses maux. Il y a dans cette basse entrecoupée, monotone, tout le souvenir des tourmens passés, et dans ce choral de la main droite, toute la résignation du véritable philosophe.” Ibid. 78 “[...] cela touche au sublime.” Ibid. 79 see for instance A. Guémer, “L’exécution musicale,” Gazette musicale an 1/1 (Jan 1834), 4–7. 130

Romanticism,” praised Bertini for what was perceived as his contemplative approach to writing music.80 The Gazette explained, “In being a powerful and austere artist, he listens, and chooses one of his thoughts, and follows it for a long time with worry, develops it and completes it in the times he is most inspired, then afterwards, he plays it for you like a serious and long-meditated work.”81

Finally, Bertini also wrote in the types of genres that that Lemoine hoped would elevate the taste of the “vulgar public.”82 Bertini wrote serious works like études and sextets, high- minded salon music, and even educational works for children.83 Le Pianiste reviewed, for instance, a Bertini piece for students that could not yet reach an octave (op. 100).84 Lemoine believed that the public’s taste would be lifted through education, but more importantly, he thought there was a lack of pieces for teaching that had caused some works written in a non- virtuosic style to become incorporated into music lessons. What once were serious works for professionals to perform had become study pieces for children to learn by rote, and the reputations of certain composers, such as Ferdinand Héróld (1791–1833), had become compromised in this shift.

80 Ellis, Music Criticism, 48. 81 “[...] lui, en artiste puissant et austère, il écoute, et choisit une de ses pensées, la suit long-temps avec inquiètude, la développe et la complète à ses heures les mieux inspirées, puis après, il vous l’exécute comme un œuvre grave et longuement meditée.” A. Guémer, “L’exécution musicale,” Gazette musicale an 1/1 (Jan 1834), 5. 82 “[...] le public vulgaire [...]” Le Pianiste an 2, 95. 83 A sextet (op. 85), and études (Lemoine published second editions of his op. 29 and 32 sets), a set of 25 caprices (op. 94). 84 Bertini, Vingt-cinq études faciles, composées expressément pour les mains qui ne peuvent pas encore embrasser l’étendue de l’octave, op. 100. Le Pianiste, an 1, 143. 131

Ferdinand Hérold

The preference for tours d’adresse that emerged in the 1820s went far beyond aesthetic arguments for Le Pianiste. It threatened the general comprehension of music that did not conform to this style, such as that of Ferdinand Hérold. Hérold is known today mainly as a composer of operas in the French style, such as Pré aux Clercs, Zampa, and Ludovic (finished by

Fromental Halévy after Hérold’s death). For the authors of Le Pianiste, however, he was not only a great opera composer, but also a fellow pianist of the Louis Adam school and a recently departed friend, having died in early 1833. Lemoine and Chaulieu’s close relationship to Hérold certainly gave their writing a eulogistic character, and after Hérold’s death, Chaulieu worked to preserve his reputation and foster his legacy by writing articles about him for various journals.85

Le Pianiste printed all news about Hérold, whether it was the publication of a new series of variations based on his operas or announcements of his works being performed abroad. His opera

Ludovic, in particular, received attention in Le Pianiste because it premiered in mid-1833, and variations based on numbers from Ludovic were being commissioned. Among the pianists who wrote variations on Ludovic were Chopin, Chaulieu, Jacques Herz, Czerny, Hunten, and Pixis.86

Hérold’s efforts to counteract the virtuosic style of the 1820s, mentioned earlier, appear to have led his music to be misunderstood by young people in the 1830s. Lemoine, the author of Le

85 For example, Chaulieu wrote a lengthy biography in Encyclopedie pittoresque de la musique [1834], printed along with a lithographed letter from Hérold to Chaulieu. (Charles Chaulieu, “Hérold,” Encyclopédie pittoresque de la musique, Adolphe Ledhuy and Henri Bertini, eds., An 1/17, 18, 19, (Paris: 1833–34), 133+). After the Encyclopedie pittoresque folded, this article was reprinted in Le Pianiste, but without the lithographed letter. (an 2, 99–101; 107– 111). These articles have the particular charm of a good friend’s reminisces. Chaulieu emphasized their friendship; he explained how he negotiated publishing contracts for Hérold and he retold what must have been a meaningful conversation in which he cheered Hérold up from what we might recognize as a period of depression. He also mythologized Hérold as a rash idealist, someone who was so enthralled with music that he risked his life by sneaking into Germany without a passport, under cover of night, to meet Hummel and Salieri. (Le Pianiste an 2, 101.) Many of Chaulieu’s ideas have been incorporated into modern scholarship. For instance, the idea that Hérold’s operas would have been better if he had had a better librettist is repeated in his current Grove biography. 86 Le Pianiste an 1, 55. 132

Pianiste’s article on Hérold’s pianism, expressed frustration that young people in the 1830s did not see value in his music because they were looking for a preponderance of notes, and Hérold’s works, lacking such an expenditure of ink, were seen as uninteresting. “Today,” Lemoine wrote,

“the young people who fumble with great difficulty on the variations that prevail, say, in seeing these charming works [of Hérold]: ‘What! That’s all there is?!’ They only look for notes there, and certainly, there are not as many as there are in modern works; when it comes to expression, musical phrase, the poetic, who cares! There is no daredevilry, therefore, it is pale.”87

The comparative simplicity of Hérold’s music had also made it widely used in music lessons because it was easier to play. This practice had led to the idea that his music was for beginners, and Le Pianiste saw this as a serious problem for two reasons. First, it undervalued the importance and meaning of Hérold’s music, and second, the music took licenses with the rules harmony and counterpoint that the journal feared would corrupt young ears if students were exposed to it too early.88 As stated in the previous chapter, Le Pianiste believed that students should only learn “perfect” pieces so that they would later appreciate the artistry of works that deviated from the standard rules. Hérold’s music was not intended for beginners, and treating it this way damaged Hérold’s reputation and confused students. Lemoine invested himself in writing music for beginners to alleviate this problem.

The way that Hérold had played the piano also reinforced the bygone aesthetic that technical displays were not the most important aspect of piano music. Le Pianiste argued that

Hérold’s performance emphasized the ideas in the music over his skill. Many times his playing

87 “[...] aujourd’hui les jeunes personnes qui ânonnent à grand’peine [sic] les variations qui ont cours, disent, en voyant ces charmans ouvrages : «Quoi! ce n’est que cela!» elles n’y cherchent que des notes, et certes, il n’y en a pas autant que dans les ouvrages modernes; pour ce qui est de l’expression, la phrase musicale, la poétique, qu’importe! il n’y a pas de casse-cou, donc, cela est pâle.” Le Pianiste an 2, 115 88 See for instance, Le Pianiste an 1, 69. 133 had mistakes; it was not as “clean” or “brilliant” as other performers. Lemoine wrote of Hérold’s playing, “[...] his lively, light, and witty execution was continually under the influence of his imagination. His fingering, often little correct, achieved a great similarity between him and

Steibelt [emphasis mine].”89 As mentioned elsewhere, Le Pianiste explained that Steibelt’s inexact fingering mattered little because his strength was found in his improvisation and witty gamesmanship.90 Similarly, Hérold’s playing emphasized imagination and his flow of ideas instead of the precision of his fingers. Le Pianiste’s description of Hérold’s execution,

“impetuous,” and “light and witty,” highlighted its impulsive and unrehearsed qualities.91

Further, the journal explained that “he [Hérold] could not conceive that one could play or compose with another guide than imagination. [emphasis original]”92

The “guide” mentioned here refers to Kalkbrenner’s guide-mains, a horizontal bar that restricted arm movement to help perfect fingering skill in students.93 Lemoine explained, “[...] tell me, is execution an art? no. We can cite some grand performers who seem born to be mathematicians or something else entirely. We have many little Herzs, little Kalkbrenners, and why?! because with patience and a guide-mains, one will make a good pianist in this type.”94

Various implements like Kalkbrenner’s guide-mains and Herz’s Dactylion, as well as new ways of giving lessons, like the group lesson brought to Paris by Franz Stoepel, had increased the

89 “[...] son exécution vive, légère et spirituelle était continuellement sous l’inﬂuence de son imagination. Son doigté, parfois peu correct, achevait la grande similitude qui se trouve entre Steibelt et lui.” Le Pianiste an 2, 115. 90 Le Pianiste an 1, 82. 91 “Son exécution était impétueuse, légère et spirituelle.” Le Pianiste an 2, 99 92 “Il ne concevait pas qu’on pût exécuter ni composer avec un autre guide que l’imagination.” Le Pianiste an 2, 115. 93 See Frédéric Kalkbrenner, Méthode pour apprendre le piano à l’aide de guide-mains op. 108 (Paris, 1831). 94 “Si nous nous restreignons à la mécanique de l’instrument, à la bonne heure; mais, dites-moi, l’exécution est-elle un art? non. Nous pourrions citer de grands exécutans qui semblent nés pour être mathématiciens ou tout autre chose. Aussi avons-nous beaucoup de petits Herzs, petits Kalkbrenners; et pourquoi! parce qu’avec de la patience et un guide-mains, on fera un bon pianiste du premier sujet venu.” Le Pianiste an 2, 115. 134 number of pianists and raised the level of execution.95 But for Le Pianiste they had caused a decline in other qualities of pianism and changed the goal of a performance.

It is unclear what would have been a normal performance for the authors of Le Pianiste since they never describe it fully, but their denouncement of the emphasis on virtuosity, cleanliness, and speed indicate that these elements had not been the focus of their concert experiences. For Le Pianiste, too much neatness in a performance meant that the ideas were rehearsed and therefore not fresh. Elsewhere, Le Pianiste argued that eight hours of practice a day was too much because extemporaneous performance was better than extreme polish, which revealed a fatal lack of ideas.96 Hérold’s piano music, emphasizing wit and not “daredevilry,” was a stark reminder for Le Pianiste of the changes that had occurred in pianistic taste in a short span of time.

Frédéric Kalkbrenner

The final pianist in the troisième époque to whom Le Pianiste devoted particular attention was Frédéric Kalkbrenner (1785–1849). One would think that a journal run by Kalkbrenner’s schoolmates would be replete with enlightening personal anecdotes and nuanced discussion about him informed by a decades of familiarity. But it is probably because of this intimate knowledge that Le Pianiste’s discussion of Kalkbrenner obscures as much as it enlightens.

Allusions, suggestions, and references that would have opened up a world of meaning for the authors and presumably their readers are lost on a modern audience. This is common in the historical press, of course, but it seems especially pronounced for Kalkbrenner in Le Pianiste, as

95 For more on the Dactylion, see Schnapper. 96 Le Pianiste ,“De l’Étude,” an 1, 38+. 135 if the entirety of the discussion is based on knowing him already. There, Kalkbrenner is both venerated and vilified, and his relationship to the virtuosity of the 1820s is hard to place.

Kalkbrenner seems to be the embodiment of a typical Parisian virtuoso in many ways.

Kenneth Hamilton notes, for instance, that “few of Kalkbrenner’s own works transcend the clichés of the brilliant early Romantic style that he helped to popularize.”97 Given Lemoine and

Chaulieu’s distaste for the virtuosity of the 1820s, it would follow that they would admonish

Kalkbrenner for his hand in it. But while Le Pianiste scolded Kalkbrenner for deficiencies in his early career, the journal does not explain exactly what these deficiencies were. The journal seems to pass over these problems, to make oblique references to them, and to focus on how

Kalkbrenner by 1833 was the founder of one of the best schools in pianism.98 Lemoine and

Chaulieu admit that like Moscheles, Kalkbrenner had travelled down an errant path in the 1820s and had later refined and improved himself to become the renowned pianist that was internationally admired in 1833. “What a difference now!” the journal proclaimed.99

To explain the trajectory of Kalkbrenner’s career, Le Pianiste proposed that there were two major divisions in the life of any artist: youth and maturity.100 In youth, Le Pianiste explained, the artist is “spirited, full of imagination, rich with ideas,” and against the imposition of “science” on his or her work, by which it meant not only theory, but knowledge and experience.101 In maturity, Le Pianiste argued that “science lends its support to imagination,

97 Kenneth Hamilton, "Kalkbrenner, Frédéric," The Oxford Companion to Music, Oxford Music Online (Oxford University Press, accessed March 18, 2015), http://www.oxfordmusiconline.com/. Hamilton uses the word brilliant here to mean the particular type of virtuosity popular in the 1820s. 98 Le Pianiste an 2, 59. 99 “Quel différence maintenant!” Le Pianiste an 1, 4. 100 Lemoine and Chaulieu probably believed that this concept applied to everyone, but it was a crucial tool for understanding Kalkbrenner. There are no other references to these divisions of an artist’s life in the journal. 101 “Dans sa jeunesse, l’artiste fougueux, plein d’imagination, riche d’idées, supporte difficilement le joug imposé par la science.” Le Pianiste an 1, 4. 136 whose forces are beginning to run out.”102 It was the period of transition between the two parts that was the best time for an artist, the “beautiful moment.”103 Here, the “the ideas are still abundant, and the science comes to coordinate them in a way that makes them shine in all their brilliance,” Le Pianiste explained.104 Thus, in the transition, the artist could draw on the best of youth and the best of maturity: his or her works would be new, challenging, but well-crafted.

Kalkbrenner, the journal explained, was fortunate enough to have extended this typically brief transition period, and had been enjoying this part of his career for nearly 10 years, since he returned to France around 1824.

Before 1824, however, his music showed “great facility, but it followed a beaten path.”105

When Kalkbrenner lived in England (c. 1814–1824), his music was encumbered with “veneered passages of chords, modulations of the school which he abused” and deserved to be classed in the “secondary order.”106 Sometimes these deficiencies still appeared in Kalkbrenner’s more modern works. Lemoine and Chaulieu lamented for instance that Kalkbrenner had written a piece in 1834 that seemed to go back to what they called the “style which we thought

K[alkbrenner] had abandoned without returning.”107 His variations on Norma (op. 122) were described as “somewhat pretentious” and exhibited the “brusque modulations” of his juvenile style.108 After moving from the key of C to the key of C-sharp, one variation abruptly ends on G

102 “Dans l’âge mûr, au contraire, la science prête son appui à l’imagination dont les forces commencent à s’épuiser.” Ibid. 103 “[...] beau moment du véritable artiste [...]” Ibid. 104 “[...] car alors les idées sont encore abondantes, et la science vient les coordonner de manière à les faire briller de tout leur éclat.” Ibid. 105 “[...] une grande facilité; mais il suivait une route battue [...]” Ibid. 106 “[...] les passages d’accords plaqués, et les modulations d’école dont il abusait [...]” Ibid. 107 “[...] genre de celles que nous croyons que K. avait abandonnées sans retour.” Le Pianiste an 1, 90. 108 “[...] quoiqu’un peu prétentieuse en imitations qui n’ont guère de rapports avec le sujet; une page en tremolo bien harmoniée, mais terminée par une modulation un peu brusque [...]” Ibid. 137 dominant, indicating a return to the tonic C. The piece moves from a G-sharp dominant (heard in relation to C-sharp) to G dominant via a fully diminished seventh chord on A-flat (see the final three measures in Example 3.3).109

Le Pianiste’s brief description of the faults of Kalkbrenner’s early career seem to suggest virtuosity with terms like “great facility” and a sense of “veneer.” In addition, the timeline is nearly identical to Moscheles’s tale of self-reform, and fits plausibly into the rest of Le Pianiste’s story about the 1820s as well. Both Kalkbrenner and Moscheles lived in London in the early

1820s, and Kalkbrenner was probably exposed to Moscheles’s early style while there. But conspicuously absent from these allusions is any mention of tours d’adresse that typically accompany Le Pianiste’s discussion of 1820s virtuosity. Further, the works that Le Pianiste

109 The same passage is illustrated in the journal’s supplement. 138 declared were his weakest, Variations on Il pleut bergère (op. 5) and Rondo on Filles de hameau

(op. 31), predate Moscheles’s Parisian debut and his time in England.110

It is unusual that virtuosity and tours d’adresse are never mentioned explicitly in the journal’s discussion of Kalkbrenner: not only were they present for all others in this generation,

Kalkbrenner was known to be an exceptionally skilled performer and no doubt tours d’adresse made up parts of his performances and pieces. Even if Kalkbrenner’s early style was deficient in a way unrelated to the virtuosity of the 1820s, the fact that Le Pianiste does not align him to one side of the style that it claims overwhelmed the decade is conspicuous. A pianist as famous as

Kalkbrenner would have exerted influence on this debate, and he could have guided virtuosity toward dominance or extinction, depending on what was found in his music. Kalkbrenner was internationally admired in the late 1820s and early 1830s, though his reputation fell sharply thereafter.111 While Kalkbrenner’s relationship to virtuosity is clouded in Le Pianiste, Lemoine and Chaulieu do explain what they valued in his best music. This discussion helps to illuminate the style of a pianist whose influential career remains misunderstood.

110 Dating Kalkbrenner’s works is difficult, as his opus numbers are not entirely in order. But his op. 31 is listed in an 1818 catalogue so it cannot postdate that year. See An Appendix to the Catalogue of 1816 published by Clementi & Co (London: 1818), n.p. His op. 5 appears in the Bibliographie de la France of 1819. It is possible he published the piece earlier in England. Bibliographie de la France 1819, 475. 111 Something that contributed to the decline in Kalkbrenner’s reputation was that he developed gout (or it worsened) around the mid-1830s and he did not perform as much. In Le Pianiste, there is a sharp decline in Kalkbrenner performances between the first and second years. In the first season, he played at least four times, and in the second year, he did not even play once. Kalkbrenner played two unnamed pieces on 26 November 1833 at the Athenée musicale. The first piece was likely a concerto, as Le Pianiste’s review noted that it showed “delicious instrumentation” though the form was a “bit severe.” The second piece was a set of variations on a Scottish theme (an 1, 28. “[...] un peu sévères [...] instrumentation délicieuse.”) On 19 January 1834 Kalkbrenner performed his Variations on a Mazurka of Chopin (op. 120) at the petite salle of the Conservatoire in a matinee organized by two violinists (an 1, 40[sic] (p. 64)). On 20 April 1834, Kalkbrenner performed his 4th concerto in A-flat (op. 127) at the Conservatoire where Beethoven’s 5th symphony was also performed (an 1, 111). Le Pianiste also mentioned that Lemoine and Chaulieu had heard Kalkbrenner play in private in early 1834; Kalkbrenner performed his Variations on a Mazurka of Chopin (op. 120) and a grand duo with Mme. Marie Pleyel (possibly op. 125 Concerto for two pianos). The journal noted that the “perfection of the execution surpassed the merit of the composition,” “nothing more perfect had ever been heard,” and that Mme. Pleyel’s performance placed her on “the level of the grand artist with which she played.” (an 1, 43. “[...] la perfection de l’exécution surpassait encore le mérite de la composition; et, dans le duo, Mad. Camille Pleyel, née Moke, s’est placée au rang du grand artiste avec lequel elle exécutait. Jamais rien de plus parfait n’avait été entendu.”) 139

Like Moscheles, Kalkbrenner’s reputation was built in part on his particularly special execution. Le Pianiste described his playing as “perfectly clean, [with] a smooth touch, [a] beautiful quality of sound, strength, [and] energy.”112 His playing was further distinguished by “a sort of elegant flirtation that we have never seen in anyone else’s fingers” and a special “charm, that belonged only to him.”113 The quality of Kalkbrenner’s playing, for Le Pianiste, was best encapsulated in the rondo of his second Concerto.114 The journal noted features like the “delicacy of the motif, the difficulty of the lines, and the brilliant work of the cadenza” and wrote that this work was “how we paint Kalkbrenner.”115 The motif of this rondo starts calmly, with a brief statement and slight pause, repeated twice, then the second half of the phrase starts unassumingly, but ends in a flourish with repeated e’s in three octaves. Adding the descriptions of Kalkbrenner’s playing to this music, we might imagine that the halting nature of this movement is coquettish, like a knowing musical wink (see Example 3.4).

112 “Que dire de son exécution! Netteté parfaite, finesse du tact, belle qualité de son, forcé, énergie, rien n’y manque.” Le Pianiste an 1, 5. 113 “[...] une sorte d’élégante coquetterie que nous n’avons jamais rencontrée ailleurs que sous les doigts.” and “Un charme, qui n’appartient qu’a lui [...]” Ibid. 114 It may seem unusual that a work could best exemplify someone’s playing, but that is a remnant of the composer- performer culture of this time and made perfect sense to them. 115 “La délicatesse du motif, la difficulté des traits, la faire brillant de la cadenza, tout, en un mot, nous peint Kalkbrenner.” Le Pianiste an 1, 5. 140

Example 3.4: Opening motive of Kalkbrenner’s Second Concerto, mvmt. III (Paris: Prillipp, n.d.). “How we paint Kalkbrenner” (Le Pianiste an 1, 5).

Kalkbrenner was also a model for the way in which he had worked to better himself throughout his career. Le Pianiste challenged its readers to compare Kalkbrenner’s later works, such as Variations on a Mazurka of Chopin (op. 120), to his earlier ones. Doing so would reveal such a marked difference, that it would remind young composers to stay ambitious, to challenge themselves and “chastise” their own work for improvement.116 Le Pianiste hoped this exercise would prove that a successful career could only be built on serious, meaningful works, and thereby discourage the publication of ephemeral ones: “They [young composers] will see that it is not through throwing around little productions every day that they will acquire their solid

116 Le Pianiste an 1, 37 [sic] (61). Kalkbrenner’s op. 120 features the theme from Chopin’s B-flat major Mazurka, op. 7, no. 1 (early 1833). 141 reputation, the only thing to which a true artist should aspire.”117 Kalkbrenner’s best works were, for Le Pianiste, Concerto in E minor (op. 80), Grand Rondo in A-flat (op. 100), Le Rêve fantasy

(op. 113), Badinage on Frère Jacques, and his variations on a Waltz of Beethoven (op.

118).118

The idea that “true artists” should compose in important genres appears elsewhere in Le

Pianiste’s criticism of Kalkbrenner. In a few cases, Le Pianiste rebuked Kalkbrenner for composing in genres that it felt were unworthy of this attention. Lemoine and Chaulieu believed in a hierarchy of piano forms, where concertos and sonatas belonged to the top category, variations and fantasias were located in a more liminal yet respectable category, and other salon styles, like bagatelles, mélanges or dance styles comprised the lowest category.119 Thus when

Kalkbrenner produced a few pieces in Le Pianiste’s least ambitious categories, he elicited disapproval. Le Pianiste lamented that Kalkbrenner had “descended” to write in a “small genre” with his Mélange on Lestocq [Auber].120 Likewise Kalkbrenner’s Galop des Lanternes, another in an undistinguished genre, was “regrettable.”121 For Le Pianiste, the goal of “grand artists” should have been to create “grand pieces, grand difficulties, innovations that extend the limits of the art of the piano.”122 Here, we see Le Pianiste’s progressive stance: Lemoine and Chaulieu

117 “[...] ils verront que ce n’est pas en lançant au jour le jour leurs petites productions qu’ils acquerront cette réputation solide, la seule qu’un véritable artiste doive ambitionner.” Le Pianiste an 1, 37 [sic] (61). 118 The Badinage on Frère Jacques is likely his op. 101. The waltz from op. 118 is erroneously attributed in the title to Beethoven; instead it is Schubert’s “Trauerwaltzer” (also known as “Sehnsuchtswalzer”) from 36 Originaltänze für Klavier, op. 9, D 365.2. 119 See for example, “Notre dernier mot sur la question des airs variées” Le Pianiste an 1, 117–120, and the journal quoting and agreeing with Edouard Fétis: “[...] nous dirons seulement, comme le fils d’un savante critique: «En fait d’airs variés, j’aime mieux un concerto.»” Le Pianiste an 1, 90. 120 Le Pianiste an 1, 176. 121 Le Pianiste an 2, 31. 122 “A eux [grands artistes] les grands morceaux, les grandes difficultés, les innovations qui agrandissent les limites de l’art du piano.” Le Pianiste an 1, 176. 142 thought it was the responsibility and privilege of the best artists to influence music’s “progress” with important, inventive pieces.

While Le Pianiste seems to obscure Kalkbrenner’s relationship to tours d’adresse and the style of the 1820s, the journal’s descriptions of Kalkbrenner’s career, and in particular his coquettish manner of performing, paint a more forgiving or intriguing picture of Kalkbrenner that differs from the extraordinarily vain and jealous man who lives on in unflattering anecdotes.123 The comments in Le Pianiste come from the last years when Kalkbrenner was universally respected, and his widespread fame is made clear by the way that Le Pianiste relied on allusions instead of overt explanations when discussing his music. For Le Pianiste,

Kalkbrenner was not always perfect, but when he was at his best, he combined style, wit, execution, and emotional variation.

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Le Pianiste’s reviews and summaries of the authors’ own peers tell a cautionary tale. In the journal’s view, the new popularity of tours d’adresse in the 1820s suppressed other ways of conveying musical meaning. Virtuosity emphasized the overt instead of the subtle; it rewarded the casual listener and left nothing for the finely-tuned ear. Instead of variety, drama, and nuance, music had been reduced to a “mere game of cup and ball” according to Le Pianiste. Further, the virtuosity of the 1820s created an appetite for imitation that was felt to be unprecedented.

Philosophically speaking, virtuosity by itself was not something harmful in Le Pianiste’s view, as long as it was inventive and individual. But the fashion for tours d’adresse in the 1820s was

123 See for instance Louis Moreau Gottschalk, Notes of a Pianist (Philadelphia, 1881), 296–299, full of unflattering anecdotes; another well-known witticism comes from Heine, that Kalkbrenner was “a bonbon that has fallen in the mud.” The Works of Heinrich Heine, vol. 8, translated by Charles Godfrey Leland (1891+), 387. Kalkbrenner might be best known for being the teacher Chopin turned down: Chopin was offered lessons and eventually refused because Kalkbrenner required three years of study at minimum. See Chopin’s Letters, edited and translated by E.L. Voynich (1931; reprint, New York: Dover Publications, 1988), 154–55. 143 based first of all on reproducing Moscheles, then on emulating his followers, until tours d’adresse were entrenched into entirely predictable patterns. But the worst part for Lemoine and

Chaulieu was that the success of this virtuosic style had fundamentally changed music comprehension. Le Pianiste reports that by the 1830s, students “looked only for notes” and did not understand anything else. While scholars have traced the backlash against virtuosity to the

1830s, if we believe Le Pianiste’s telling, then this was already an old issue by the 1830s, crystallized into worn and predictable patterns of thinking.

It is curious that out of all of Le Pianiste’s generations, the members of the troisième

époque are the least familiar. Many musicians in the first and second eras — Mozart and

Beethoven, most notably — are well-known today. Equally familiar are musicians from the fourth era: here we find Chopin and Liszt, for instance. But everyone in the third era is obscure.

Why is it that this entire generation seems to have faltered, whereas their teachers and their students did not? Broadly speaking, little of their music seems to rise above its time and place.

But the way that Lemoine and Chaulieu mentioned virtuosity when describing each person’s career might provide another clue. Is it that virtuosity so overwhelmed pianism in the 1820s that even those opposed to it could not escape being defined by it?

While much historical criticism speaks of “virtuoso” as a type, Le Pianiste’s discussion focuses on virtuosity as a product of a particular time more than a product of particular people.

That some may be called virtuosi now only seems to represent the fact that they were primarily active in the 1820s. Those who had careers that extended beyond the 1820s, like Moscheles or

Liszt, were able to shed their virtuosic skin and remake themselves as “serious” musicians.

Musicians whose careers faded by the mid-1830s, like Kalkbrenner or Pixis, were not able to 144 escape derision. Still others, whose careers did not start until after the 1820s, like Chopin, were never considered in such negative terms, although works like Chopin’s op. 10 Études are extremely virtuosic. Instead of placing all the agency on individual people, Le Pianiste understood virtuosity to be a response to a particular climate. Research on the pianists of the troisième époque is in its infancy: basic information about their careers remains to be sufficiently established and some of their music appears to be lost. With so little known about this generation, this way of thinking might help recontextualize these pianists’ careers in future research, and lead to a more complete and nuanced understanding of their music.

Le Pianiste’s emphasis on virtuosity in the 1820s also helps to explain the impetus behind the authors’ broader mission in another way. The journal’s focus on the “fathers of piano” was in part a reaction against the 1820s. By rebuilding the idols from their own childhood, Lemoine and

Chaulieu hoped to teach their students what had been erased by the fashion for tours d’adresse.

But they also looked to the future, and worked to mold and encourage young careers. The authors believed that the new generation, pianists such as Chopin and Ferdinand Hiller, held great promise. It was these musicians, they hoped, who would right the course and lead music back to substance in new and exciting ways. 145

Chapter 4: “Talent is so young these days”: New Music and the Romantic Generation

Le Pianiste’s discussion of the quatrième époque, or the generation of pianists born after

1800, exemplifies reception history in its most immediate form. While some opinions were influenced by the business of the press, the reviews do not reflect long-standing relationships nor do they summarize entire careers. They are simply contemporary opinions on new music. But in this simplicity we find fledgling thoughts that would later take hold, and other ideas that were forgotten or abandoned. For the quatrième époque, Le Pianiste’s authors served as counselors: as older men they announced to the world what was good and offered advice to the young pianists they reviewed. Lemoine and Chaulieu wrote many early reviews of twenty-somethings such as

Chopin, Liszt, Schumann, and Mendelssohn near their debut. “Talent is so young these days,” Le

Pianiste mused.1

But what meaning would two men who loved Steibelt derive from the music of the

Romantic generation? What do their reactions reveal about the project of Le Pianiste, and the aesthetics of the Louis Adam school? The reviews of the quatrième époque in Le Pianiste show that while Lemoine and Chaulieu were devoted to the music of their youth, their interest in its preservation did not mean that they disliked new music. In fact, Le Pianiste styled itself as a

“journal of progress” and claimed that it “followed, with interest, the march of progress of art.”2

The journal’s twin focus on both the past and the future was a result of what Lemoine and

Chaulieu saw as the virtuosic crisis of the 1820s. Their philosophy was that returning to the aesthetics of the “fathers of piano” would effectively erase the follies of the 1820s like tours

1 “[...] aujourd’hui le talent lui-même est jeune [...]” Le Pianiste an 1, 145. 2 “[...] suivant avec intérêt la marche des progrès de l’art [...]” Prospectus of Le Pianiste (Vaugirard: J[ules]. Delacour, 1833). Available at the Bibliothèque nationale de France, V-10877. 146 d’adresse, and put music on a righted path toward the best future. New music that appeared to provide an alternative to the virtuosic style of the 1820s was especially praised, along with serious and expressive works. However, not all new ideas were good, and Le Pianiste chided certain players for trying to be bizarre on purpose.

The most promising young performer for Lemoine and Chaulieu was Frédéric Chopin.

They believed that Chopin was a master whose success would quell the tours d’addresse style that they deplored. In some ways it appears that they thought Chopin was the heir to their line of thinking: his music was innovative, charming, and introspective, and his playing, so similar to

Dussek’s, would signal “the return” to a standard of execution of which they approved.3 Liszt, on the other hand, exhibited many faults. While his talent shone through his shortcomings, Lemoine and Chaulieu thought it was their duty, as journalists and pianists, to encourage Liszt to reform his musical and professional habits, because they believed that “those who encourage him in his

[excesses] do him a grave disservice.”4 For Ferdinand Hiller, a German pianist relatively new to

Paris, Le Pianiste focused its attention on explaining to Hiller how best to please the Parisian public, which reveals stark differences in contemporary national styles. Le Pianiste’s writings on

Henri Herz are an elaborate display of various external pressures that pollute and influence

Lemoine and Chaulieu’s real feelings about him. Herz was the subject of a negative campaign in

Le Pianiste’s rival, the Gazette musicale, and the majority of Le Pianiste’s writing on Herz responds indirectly to the Gazette. While Le Pianiste supported him out of respect (and out of allegiance to past publishing deals), it challenged him to the brave task of abandoning the 1820s

3 “Nous souhaitons sincèrement que ce jeune artiste joue plus souvent en public; car son tact heureux, exempt de tout charlatanisme, doit contribuer à hâter le retour à une exécution sage telle que l'aurait le célèbre Dussek, s'il vivait de nos jours.” Le Pianiste an 2, 32. 4 “Mais ceux qui l’admirent jusque dans paroxysmes de son exaltation, lui rendent un mauvais service.” Le Pianiste an 2, 95. 147 style for which he was famous. Finally, Le Pianiste’s scant reviews of Schubert, Mendelssohn, and Schumann illustrate how reputations travelled faster than music.

This constellation of reviews of the quatrième époque comprise the final piece in Le

Pianiste’s generational puzzle.5 In some ways, because most of the musicians of the quatrième

époque remain familiar today, it provides the most accessible way to understand Le Pianiste’s aesthetics. But underneath all these reviews lie ideas and shared history from prior generations, and without an understanding the journal’s long-term goals and interests, it is easy to miss out on the subtle gradations between good taste and the bizarre that the authors of Le Pianiste assumed their audience would understand.

Frédéric Chopin Chopin (1810–1849) was, by far, the artist who received the most attention in Le

Pianiste. Lemoine and Chaulieu were fascinated by him, and they reviewed almost all of his published music and concert activity in the two years Le Pianiste was in print. These reviews are notable not only for their unusual detail but also for how they evince the authors hopes in way that is deeply connected to and reflective of their desires for the future: Lemoine and Chaulieu believed that Chopin would herald a return to a performance practice that had faded in the 1820s and carry on the legacy of the “fathers of piano” because, as mentioned, they believed his playing was similar to Dussek’s. “We sincerely hope,” one concert review pleaded, “that this young artist plays more in public, for his pleasing tact, free from all charlatanism, must help to

5 It should be noted that there are many more pianists discussed in Le Pianiste than can be discussed here. We find the debuts of Charles-Valentin Alkan and Camille Stamaty, the Lambert sisters, and Mlle. Mazas. The nocturnes of Joseph Kessler were a favorite of Le Pianiste, and the journal included reviews of Albert Sowinsky, Charles Schunke, George Osborne, and many others. 148 hasten the return to a wise execution, such as one would hear in the celebrated Dussek, if he lived today.”6

Lemoine and Chaulieu may have even thought of Chopin as a sort of extension of their own school, for Dussek’s music formed the most basic training of the Adam school. Chopin was also connected to Kalkbrenner, from whom he had planned to take lessons (though these never materialized because Kalkbrenner required three years minimum commitment) and who helped in organizing Chopin’s Parisian debut in February 1832.7 Because the authors of Le Pianiste felt that Chopin’s music had a special and possibly personal significance, their reviews are marked by an intensity that speaks to Chopin’s talent from early on and Le Pianiste’s fascination with him.

Like most of the people discussed in Le Pianiste, Lemoine and Chaulieu knew Chopin personally and had attended his performances numerous times. The distinctive quality of his playing left Lemoine and Chaulieu with a desire to hear him more often and they implored him to increase his infrequent concert appearances (he only gave four public concerts in two years

6 “Nous souhaitons sincèrement que ce jeune artiste joue plus souvent en public; car son tact heureux, exempt de tout charlatanisme, doit contribuer à hâter le retour à une exécution sage telle que l'aurait le célèbre Dussek, s'il vivait de nos jours.” Le Pianiste an 2, 32. 7 As we know, Chopin declined the lessons because he required 3 years minimum commitment. However, Kalkbrenner aided Chopin by organizing his Parisian debut in 1832. Jean-Jacques Eigeldinger, “Les Premiers concerts de Chopin à Paris (1832–1838),” Music in Paris in the 1830s (Stuyvesant, NY: Pendragon Press, 1987), 253–255. 149 and at least one private concert that Le Pianiste attended).8 Chopin’s performances not only exhibited his pianistic expertise with its unique character, but his style of playing explained his music in a way that his published scores could not: “One can hardly play his music without having heard him perform it himself.”9

Le Pianiste described his playing as “so delicate,” and his touch “so fine” and explained that it was “so full of imperceptible nuances that only a sensitive and practiced ear can understand it.”10 When Chopin played a duet with Hiller, the journal complained that Hiller’s style overshadowed Chopin’s which was too delicate to be heard in a group. Le Pianiste suggested that since Chopin’s execution was “perfect” it would better if he played only solo performances.11 At another concert, Chopin played only one movement of an unnamed concerto, but Le Pianiste argued that it was so stunning it left everyone wanting more. In this single movement, he not only employed “taste and elegance” but also proved that “the most simple means” could leave a lasting impression on the public, providing proof of an alternative to the

8 While Le Pianiste was in print, Lemoine and Chaulieu heard Chopin play at least five times: on 15 December 1833 Chopin played a movement of a Bach concerto on three pianos with Hiller and Liszt; on 25 Feb 1834 Chopin was called in as a substitute performer when the concert’s organizer, Albert Sowinsky, fell ill; on 7 December 1834 Chopin performed the slow movement of an unnamed concerto at a Berlioz concert; some weeks later at least Lemoine or Chaulieu, if not both, were invited to a private party where Chopin and Hiller played; and on 22 February 1835 Chopin played a duet with Hiller at Hiller’s concert. Other performances of this era are noted in Eigeldinger, “Les Premiers concerts de Chopin à Paris (1832–1838),” Music in Paris in the 1830s (Stuyvesant, NY: Pendragon Press, 1987), 251–297. Eigeldinger notes one concert on Christmas Day 1834 and three others in 1835 where Chopin played that are not reviewed in Le Pianiste. It is unclear, given Le Pianiste’s heightened interest in Chopin, why they did not attend all of his concerts. It may be that Lemoine and Chaulieu attended but did not review the concerts (or in one case, they attended a concert but did not mention Chopin’s participation). While Le Pianiste complained that Chopin did not play in public enough, after April 1835, Chopin did not play in public for two years. 9 “On ne rendre guère bien sa musique sans l’avoir entendu lui-même l’exécuter.” Le Pianiste an 1, 78. 10 “[...] le jeune et gracieux Chopin, dont le jeu est si délicat et le tact si fin [...]” Le Pianiste an 2, 41; “[...] le talent, parfait d'ailleurs, de M. Chopin est si délicat, si plein de nuances imperceptibles et qu'une oreille sensible et exercée peut seule saisir.” Le Pianiste an 2, 69. 11 Le Pianiste an 2, 69. 150 tours d’adresse that the authors condemned.12 Overall, Le Pianiste described Chopin’s playing style as a “coquette and capricious offhandedness (désinvolture).”13

Le Pianiste’s descriptions do not vary wildly from other known descriptions of Chopin’s playing.14 However, they do give us a sense of what Lemoine and Chaulieu heard in his music, and what they saw in it that was to be prized. Descriptors like “tact,” “taste,” and “grace” are frequent, which suggests that Chopin played in a style that Lemoine and Chaulieu recognized and understood. It was both familiar in this way, and new and unique, containing special detail that fascinated Le Pianiste.

Le Pianiste’s concert reviews give intriguing descriptions of Chopin’s performance style, but they pale in comparison to the volume and detail of Le Pianiste’s published music reviews.

The journal’s first issue alone includes a three-and-a-half page essay on Chopin’s op. 10 Études, which is easily the longest review of a single work in the entire journal. This review also figured into the first issue’s broader framework. As mentioned previously, Le Pianiste’s first issue was organized around three articles on pianists from different eras that I have argued were intended to represent the most important pianistic model of each era. Clementi represented music of the past,

Kalkbrenner, music of the present, and Chopin, music of the future. The significance of this pronouncement cannot be overstated: Chopin, untested, having published only six works in

12 “M. Chopin a fait voir, dans ce trop court fragment, que les moyens les plus simples, le goût et la grâce, font beaucoup d’impression sur un bon public.” Le Pianiste an 2, 32. 13 “[...] la désinvolture coquette et capricieuse de Chopin[...]” Le Pianiste an 2, 66. 14 See for instance, appendix IV in Jean-Jacques Eigeldinger, Chopin: Pianist and Teacher — as Seen by his Pupils (original French version entitled Chopin vu par ses elèves), translated by Naomi Shohet (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1986). It should be noted that the quoted passage in that appendix (291–292) from Le Pianiste was not written by Lemoine or Chaulieu, and was a borrowed article written by “L.D.” for an unknown journal. For that reason it does not figure into the present analysis. 151

Paris, and less than two years after his Parisian debut, was declared the best the future had to offer.15

This first article on Chopin in Le Pianiste also suggests that he was a controversial figure in 1833. The essay, written by Chaulieu, defends Chopin against accusations that he was

“enigmatic” and it argues that Chopin was more important than people realized: “It has been claimed that he [Chopin] deserves the epithet of enigmatic; I disagree with this opinion... The people who previously accused Beethoven of being bizarre did not have any more comprehension of him than those today who call Chopin enigmatic.”16 It is rather remarkable that Chaulieu would suggest that a negative review of Chopin would only come from the type of person who had been wrongly suspicious of Beethoven in years past. Thus, he implies that

Chopin, just twenty-three years old and having completed his tenth work, might be nearly as important as Beethoven, meriting serious study.

The article continues with an analysis of the op. 10 Études, which were hailed as a significant work in a genre that might provide insight into Chopin’s mind. For Chaulieu, the

étude had special essence: it was one of the best means by which a person could understand a musician because an étude was designed to solve difficulties that the author found in his or her own playing. Despite the recent plethora of études published in Paris (and he listed eighteen examples), Chaulieu wished that every artist would produce a set: “For my taste, I would like for every composer to make a book of études, because nothing shows the character of the talent of

15 Chopin had published his opp. 2 and 6–10 in Paris by November 1833. See Chopin’s First Editions online 16 “On a prétendu qu’il méritait l’épithète d’énigmatique; je ne partage pas cet avis [...] Les gens qui taxaient autrefois Beethowen de bizarrerie, ne le comprenaient pas plus que ne comprennent aujourd'hui Chopin ceux qui le traitent d'énigmatique.” Le Pianiste an 1, 6. 152 an artist better that this genre; it’s there that the composer’s habits are found in their natural state, and when you know them well, you have the style of the artist’s other works.”17

Of Chopin’s version of this genre Chaulieu wrote glowing praise: “This young author places himself, at his debut, at the level of the grand masters — and you know that there are only a few of them.”18 He admitted in various places in his review that he devoted significant time to practicing Chopin’s work, and expressed his great pleasure when he learned each piece: “What a reward when you can get it fast enough!”19 He also commented on each étude in the set and printed copious excerpts in the journal’s supplement to illustrate his points.20 Among his more evocative comments, the seventh étude was called “dazzling (étincelante),” the eleventh was described as the “work of a master,” and the melody of the ninth was said to be “full of fire and taste.”21

Sometimes, however, Le Pianiste questioned Chopin’s choices and offered critique, which can be seen not only in the first review but also in subsequent ones (and indeed, in most reviews of other musicians). This fact has caused Katharine Ellis to portray the journal’s opinion of Chopin as a “mixture of admiration and fear.”22 However, in addition to the numerous positive remarks omitted in Ellis’s summation, there is evidence that Lemoine and Chaulieu believed that

17 “[...] pour mon goût, je voudrais que chaque compositeur fît un cahier d’études, parce que rien ne montre mieux que ce genre de composition le caractère du talent d’un artiste; c’est là que ses habitudes se retrouvent au naturel, et quand vous les possédez bien, vous avez le cachet de ses autres ouvrages.” Le Pianiste an 1, 5. Chaulieu listed études by Boëly, Chaulieu, Czerny, Clementi, Schmitt, Steibelt, Cramer, Kalkbrenner, Liszt, Zimmerman, Kessler, Mme de Montgeroult, Désormery, Mochelès, Bertini, the caprices of Muller and Hiller, and the preludes of Henri Herz. The latter are quasi-études. 18 “Ce jeune auteur se place, à son début, au niveau des grands maîtres, — et vous savez qu’il y en a peu.” Le Pianiste an 1, 6. 19 “[...] mais quelle récompense quand on est parvenu à la jouer vite!” Le Pianiste an 1, 7. 20 The supplement is not included in the Minkoff reprint and can only now be found at the Bibliothèque national de France and the Bodleian Library, Oxford. I have only seen the copy in Paris; the Bodleian copy is reported by Ellis. 21 “C’est un œuvre de maître.” Le Pianiste an 1, 7, and “Ce chant est plein de feu et de goût.” Le Pianiste an 1, 6. 22 Katharine Ellis, Music Criticism in Nineteenth-Century France: ‘La Revue et Gazette musicale de Paris,’ 1834– 1880 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1995), 47. 153 a substantive review of important music must include criticism. For instance, in one review of

Chopin’s op. 16 Rondo, Le Pianiste mentioned one negative thing and then noted, “but that’s all our critic can find.”23 If Lemoine and Chaulieu believed that a critic’s job was to search for issues on which to disagree, then their criticism might be said to serve a didactic rather than a condemnatory purpose. It is likely that Lemoine and Chaulieu were attempting to write meaningful commentaries that might be constructive as well as instructive to their readers, as opposed to generic praise or mere descriptions of the music that can be sometimes found in other contemporary reviews.24

The type of criticism found in reviews of Chopin usually manifested itself as comments about very small details in the scores.25 For instance, Chaulieu wrote that in the fifth étude of op.

10 (the “black keys”), the C-flat in the left hand in the third measure was “hard,” because it jarred against the D-flat pedal. He suggested that it could only be right if the A-flat on the fourth eighth note was changed, because it “interrupts” the D-flat pedal which is rearticulated in the next measure.26 The journal printed his suggestion to alleviate the problem, seen in Example 1.

Chaulieu gave this disarmingly blunt summation about his vexation with the note: “I would like this étude very much if it didn’t have that C-flat.”27

23 “[...] mais voilà tout ce que notre critique peut y mordre[...]” Le Pianiste an 1, 109–110. 24 See for example, Gazette musicale an 1/24, 195.“M. Chopin a commencé l’introduction par un bref tutti. Vient ensuite un solo cantabile pour le piano, long de deux pages et demie [...] La page 8 commence par un thême [sic] de Charles Kurpinsky, qui et premièrement dit par tout l’orchestre, puis redit en manière de cadence-presto con furio par le piano, d’abord sous la forme d’un adagio et ensuite en forme de variations dans un mouvement beaucoup plus pressé [emphasis original].” 25 These comments in their entirety might be instructive for further research about reactions to new harmonic effects: much of what was new excited Lemoine and Chaulieu, but other inventions confused them. 26 Le Pianiste an 1, 7. 27 “[...] j’aimerais beaucoup cette étude si ce n’était l’ut bémol en question.” Ibid. 154

Example 4.1: Chopin Études, op. 10 no. 5, mm. 3–4, with Chaulieu’s suggestion in lowest staff. Example G in Le Pianiste supplement to an 1/1, n.p.

Alerting the readers to these types of details also modeled long-term study that the authors wanted them to undertake. In one case, Chaulieu broke from his narrative to “speak” to a imaginary reader who heard an engraving mistake: “You say that you prefer a D natural in the base in the eighth measure. I say that you have a very delicate ear.”28 Le Pianiste implored its readers to spend time with Chopin’s music: “Don’t judge them [the études] right away, or even at the second reading: act as you do with the odes of Lamartine, that you love so, — find the true meaning; discover the melody, always gracious, but often wrapped in such a fashion that it is difficult to find.”29

Subsequent reviews follow the same pattern: they are detailed and reflect careful study of

Chopin’s works. Of the opening melody in the first of the op. 15 Nocturnes, for instance, Le

Pianiste wrote, “Few melodies are more sweet, more graceful.”30 Despite the “stormy”

28 “Vous dites que vous aimez le ré naturel à la base dans la 8e mesure: — je m’en rapporte à votre oreille toute délicate.” Le Pianiste an 1, 6. As it turns out, this is not a mistake, but the publisher Schlesinger was thoroughly rebuked for it. 29 “[...] ne les jugez pas à une première, ni même à une seconde lecture; agissez comme vous le faites avec les odes de Lamartine, que vous aimez tant, — cherchez le vrai sens; découvrez le chant, toujours gracieux, mais souvent enveloppé de façon à être difficilement trouvé.” Ibid. 30 “Peu de chants sont plus doux, plus gracieuse que le début du premier des trois nocturnes.” Le Pianiste an 1, 79. 155 modulations in the middle of the third nocturne (starting around m. 53), the voice leading found within that passage was “perfect.”31 Le Pianiste criticized small parts, but while doing so, it credited Chopin’s talent, imploring him to use his abilities to edit certain passages in his works:

“[The] exquisite melody [of the first nocturne] is marred by two measures [mm 3–4] that even the art of the author cannot soften?”32

For a joint review of the op. 16 Rondo and the op. 17 Mazurkas, Le Pianiste prefaced its analysis with unfettered praise. The author of the review declared that while all of Chopin’s works were impressive, he predicted that it was especially the nocturnes and the mazurkas that would have a “remarkable destiny.”33 To defend Chopin against his detractors, the journal repeated its argument that a dislike of Chopin only came from misunderstanding, noting, “Those who understand them [his works] find them ravishing, and the judgement of others is entirely different.”34 If the journal’s criticism of small points in Chopin’s music leaves any doubt as to the true nature of Lemoine and Chaulieu’s feelings for Chopin, they gave an impressive summation of Chopin’s abilities: “Our opinion, already demonstrated in this journal, places us in the class of admirers, and when we see so many talented artists with no imagination, and imaginative artists with no talent, we are pleased to come across both of these two qualities in a very young man who has embarked upon the musical career under such favorable auspices.”35

31 Ibid. 32 “[...] délicieux chant est déparé par les deux mesures que l'art même de l'auteur ne saurait adoucir?” Ibid. 33 “Les ouvrages de Chopin, et particulièrement ses nocturnes et ses mazurkas — mazourk — ont une destiné remarquables [...]” Le Pianiste an 1, 109. 34 “[...] ceux qui les comprennent les trouvent ravissans, et le jugement des autres est toute différent.” Ibid. 35 “[...] nous ne pouvons attribuer ceci qu'aux formes originales et aux harmonies de passage traitées d'une manière toute nouvelle, que l'on y rencontre à chaque instant, et qui choquent l'oreille lorsqu'elles ne sont pas convenable attaquées; quant à nous, notre opinion, déjà manifestée dans ce journal, nous place dans les classe des admirateurs, et quand nous voyons tant d'artistes de talent sans imagination, et artistes d'imagination sans talent, nous sommes heureux de rencontrer ces deux qualités dans un très jeune homme qui est entré dans la carrière musicale de si heureux auspices.” Ibid. 156

It was Chopin’s ability to innovate without rewriting harmonic rules that especially impressed Lemoine and Chaulieu. The op. 17 mazurkas, for instance, were lauded for having a quality found only in “truly original works” while being full of “elegance and correctness” that the authors “could not praise enough.”36 The opening melody of the second mazurka of the set was described as having a “sweet and plaintive feeling that charms and goes straight to your heart.”37 The fourth was “ravishing,” though the authors felt its unusual ending strayed a bit into the territory of the bizarre.38 In a repetition of the opening, the piece concludes with a subdominant harmony that previously served to introduce the main theme.

Similarly, in the op. 15 Nocturnes, Le Pianiste praised the interesting new effects, like the manner in which Chopin returned to the tonic G just at the end of the “most original” third nocturne, which was “new and unexpected.”39 Amid unstable tonality, Chopin subverts a few expectations in his return to G: first, he avoids a previously established pattern of upward leading tone motion by moving from E-natural to unison D; second, he expands the bass register significantly. Third, he mimics the motion of a previous tonicization of F-major where a G-minor chord pivots back to F-major through motion of ii-V-I. At the end of the piece, this G-minor chord moves to c-minor (as predominant in G instead of dominant in F) and then onto the dominant (D) and a clear cadential pattern leading to the end in G-major (see Example 4.2). The

36 “Les quatre mazourk — op. 17 — sont, comme les précédentes, de délicieuses bluettes qui ont cette particularité qui n’appartient qu’aux productions vraiment originales [...] Il y a dans toutes une élégance et correction que nous ne saurions trop louer [...]” Ibid., 110. 37 “[...] la deuxième est d’un sentiment doux et plaintif qui charme et va au cœur [...]” Ibid. 38 “[...] ravissante [...]” Ibid. 39 “Le troisième nocturne est le plus original [...] La manière de revenir au ton du sol, pour finir, est aussi neuve qu’imprévue.” Le Pianiste an 1, 79. 157 music seems to open and then relax in a kind of expansive breath.

Example 4.2: Return to G at the end of Chopin’s Nocturnes op. 15 No. 3 (mm. 4–6 on this line). French first edition (Paris: Schlesinger, 1833) from Chopin’s First Editions Online. Note the error in the penultimate chord.

In a two-part review of Chopin’s op. 19 Bolero, Le Pianiste focused on defending Chopin against a negative review in the Gazette musicale. Chopin had been publishing all of his works with Schlesinger until he published the opp. 16 and 17 (Rondo and Mazurkas) with Pleyel and the op. 19 Bolero with Prillip in 1834.40 The negative review in the Gazette reflected the split in the relationship between Chopin and Schlesinger and was a retaliation for a severed business arrangement. What most annoyed Le Pianiste in the Gazette’s review was a passage where Franz

Stoepel suggested that Chopin take care to not “lose his head in the clouds.”41 Le Pianiste gave

“felicitation” to Chopin for not taking this advice, and explained, “at his age, and with the desire that he appears to have to not tread the beaten path, endowed by nature with an ability that is

40 Op. 19 published October 1834. It seems the publication was a joint venture between Prilipp and Pleyel: Pleyel is mentioned on the title page as a “purchaser of the funds” and is listed as publisher in the Bibliographie de la France (Paris, 1834), 704. 41 Le Pianiste an 2, 4, quoting Stoepel, Gazette musicale an 1/38 (21 Sept 1834), 306. “Pourquoi perdre sa tête dans les nuages? ne suffit il pas de l’élever au-dessus de toutes les autres?” 158 both new and graceful, it is good that he listen only to his own instinct, which is perfect, without a doubt.”42

Le Pianiste suggested that those who do not understand Chopin cease trying to do so, encouraging “those who do not understand him to close the book.”43 This comment seemed to have caused a flurry of letters to the journal because Lemoine and Chaulieu offered clarification in the subsequent issue: “If we announced that this remarkable piece is not agreeable except to pianists of the first class, it is not due to the difficulty of its features, but because of the particular style of the author.”44 Specifically, they repeated their earlier assertions that Chopin must be essentially understood in order to play him well, nothing that “his phrase does not endure the slow analysis of study” and that the “sentiment, sometimes vague but always present” must be comprehended so that it may “prevail.”45 In another reference to Le Pianiste’s distaste for tours d’adresse, the journal added that “something else besides fingers is needed to correctly render the musical thoughts of Chopin.”46

Finally, the reviews for Chopin in Le Pianiste also reveal an undercurrent of disapproval for the editions and ethics of Schlesinger’s publishing house, which published many of Chopin’s works. While the discussion about the lack of quality in Schlesinger’s editions helped fuel the long-standing feud between the Gazette and Le Pianiste, it is notable that much of the rivalry at large was centered on the quality of Schlesinger’s editions of Chopin’s music. Lemoine and

42 “À son âge, et avec le désir qu'il paraît avoir de ne pas se traîner sur la route battue, doué par la nature d'une faculté à la fois neuve et gracieuse, il fait bien de n'écouter que son instinct, qui est parfait, sans aucun doute.” Le Pianiste an 2, 4. 43 “Permis à ceux qui ne le comprennent pas de fermer le livre [...]” Ibid. 44 “Si, en parlant de ce morceau remarquable, nous avons annoncé qu’il ne convenait qu’aux pianistes de première classe, ce n’est pas pour la difficulté des traits, mais à cause du style particulier à cet auteur.” Le Pianiste an 2, 13. 45 “[...] en général, sa phrase ne souffre pas l'analyse lente de l'étude, et le sentiment quelquefois vague, mais toujours attachent qui y règne, a essentiellement besoin d'être compris.” Ibid. 46 “[...] il faut autre chose que les doigts pour bien rendre les pensées musicales de Chopin.” Ibid. 159

Chaulieu implored Schlesinger to treat meaningful works like Chopin’s with better care. They noted errors in Schlesinger’s publication of op. 13 Fantasia on Polish airs (discussed in Chapter

1) and the op. 10 Études, warning that “the editor would do well to more carefully review the proofs of such important works, as there are still many mistakes in it.”47 In another instance, the journal noticed that Schlesinger was pricing his works artificially high. For the op. 18 Grande valse brillante, Le Pianiste noted that waltz was beautiful, but it was “neither grand, nor brilliant,” and explained, “we strongly suspect that these two words are there only to justify the elevated price of 6 francs for a waltz of only eight pages, four of which are only repetitions

[emphasis original].”48 A footnote explained that a new lower price had been announced since the article was written: an outcry amongst the public was sufficient to cause Schlesinger to change his pricing, but Le Pianiste did not want his revision to fully exonerate him.49

The consistent attention to mistakes in Schlesinger’s editions of Chopin’s music was also likely a tactic by Lemoine to advertise the quality of his own publishing firm. Lemoine probably wanted to publish Chopin’s works himself, evidenced by the fact that he later bought republishing rights to some Chopin works from Schlesinger to make new error-free editions: in

1842 he bought the op. 10 and op. 25 Études.50 If a plan to alert Chopin to the availability and quality of Lemoine’s firm existed, it was unsuccessful: Lemoine never published any new piece by Chopin and Lemoine’s firm was weakly imprinted on Chopin’s mind. In 1844, for example,

47 “L’éditeur fera bien de faire revoir plus soigneusement les épreuves d’ouvrages aussi importans, ca [sic] il reste beaucoup de fautes dans celui-ci [regarding op. 15 Nocturnes]” Le Pianiste an 1, 6 footnote and Le Pianiste an 1, 142 regarding op. 13 Fantasia. 48 “[...] ni grande ni brillante, et nous soupçonnons fort que ces deux épithètes ne sont là que pour justifier le prix élevé de 6 fr. pour une walse qui a huit pages, dont quatre ne sont que des répétitions.” Le Pianiste an 1, 156. 49 Ibid. 50 Note the special interest in études. The Lemoine firm also bought op. 18 & op. 12 in 1867, after Lemoine’s death. Chopin First Editions Online. 160

Chopin wrote two letters to Auguste Franchomme asking him to negotiate a contract for the op.

55 Nocturnes and op. 56 Mazurkas.51 He explained that if Schlesinger refused his price, then

Franchomme was meant to offer the sale to another publisher, Meissonier. In the second letter, sent the next day, Chopin backtracked and explained that in his haste of the previous day, he forgot about Lemoine, and in fact he preferred that Lemoine publish op. 55 and op. 56 over

Meissonier.52 Franchomme had already negotiated the terms of sale with Schlesinger, however.

This exchange shows that Chopin had a good impression of Lemoine’s business, but it was not strong enough to make Lemoine his first choice for publishing contracts.

Overall, because Chopin’s music seemed to embody Le Pianiste’s large-scale interests — his playing evoked Dussek’s manner and seemed to revive that aesthetic, and his music seemed to provide an alternative to tours d’adresse — Chopin and his music were imbued with a special significance in Le Pianiste which bordered on the prophetic. Every tiny detail of Chopin’s music mattered; his music was studied, relished, and analyzed with particular intent. Any disagreement or criticism was not based on fear, but rather on differing visions for the future. Chopin’s music embodied so much of everything that Lemoine and Chaulieu hoped for the future — they never questioned him about large scale issues of form or style, but only on small harmonic details, attesting to the harmony of their respective visions. Le Pianiste found Chopin’s music tasteful, elegant, intimate, meaningful, and introspective. It is doubtful that Chopin knew about his

“significance” to the authors of Le Pianiste, but for them, the past, present, and future aligned in

Chopin, a “master from his debut.”

51 Chopin’s Letters, edited and translated by E.L. Voynich (1931; reprint, New York: Dover Publications, 1988), 267. Pieces attributed in Jeffrey Kallberg, Chopin at the Boundaries: Sex, History, and Musical Genre (Cambridge, MA, and London: Harvard University Press, 1996), 171. Franchomme made the deal with Schlesinger, but Chopin’s next two pieces were by Meissonier. 52 Chopin’s Letters, edited and translated by E.L. Voynich (1931; reprint, New York: Dover Publications, 1988), 267. 161

Franz Liszt

Le Pianiste’s criticism of Liszt (1811–1886) provides a foil to its discussion of Chopin in many ways. First, Le Pianiste was much more critical of Liszt than Chopin. Le Pianiste respected many aspects of Liszt’s talent, like his improvisation, his reading ability, and his fine execution. However, Lemoine and Chaulieu found other aspects of his playing, such as the force with which he hit the keys, as well as his manners, worthy of disdain.53 A common sentiment was that he had “great qualities and great defects.”54 Lemoine and Chaulieu most likely felt that they were doing Liszt a favor by offering him constructive criticism, since they argued that those people who “admired him even in [his excesses] do him a grave disservice.”55

In addition, whereas all of the discussion of Chopin was original, much of the discussion of Liszt was borrowed and reprinted from other journals. In his summary of Liszt’s reception history, Dana Gooley notes that negative reviews of Liszt in print are rare, because Liszt courted the press for positive reviews. Gooley argues that this lack of criticism in the contemporary press leaves us with an incomplete picture of Liszt and his reception.56 In well-known journalistic sources, this pattern holds true, but there are many journals that have not yet been consulted. Le

Pianiste is one of these journals, but more importantly, because the journal reprinted different articles on Liszt from other unknown sources, it provides evidence of a much greater range of sources that are, as yet, unstudied. For instance, there is an article borrowed from a medical

53 For instance Le Pianiste an 1, 107: “[...] affiche la prétention de réunir les genres de Listz [sic] et de Czerny, et cela parce qu’elle frappe comme l’un et galope comme l’autre.” See also Le Pianiste an 1, 42–43, where it is subtly noted that the piano on which Liszt played, an Erard, had ironclad strength: “Le piano sur lequel a joué Listz [sic] — ce piano est d’Erard — et non seulement excellent, mais d’une solidité à toute épreuve... Les personnes qui assistaient à ce concert nous comprendront.” 54 “[...] de grandes qualités et de grands défauts.” Le Pianiste an 2, 95. 55 “Mais ceux qui l’admirent jusque dans paroxysmes de son exaltation, lui rendent un mauvais service.” Ibid. 56 Dana Gooley, The Virtuoso Liszt (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2004), 17. 162 journal about Liszt’s charity performance at a sanitarium; his playing completely transfixed a mentally ill woman known to have an appreciation for music, but who lacked the ability to dress herself or speak. Marie d’Agoult saved a clipping of this article in her scrapbook.57 There is an article on phrenology, in which the phrenologist M. Fossati explained that the shape of Liszt’s head had affinity with the shape of Weber’s, and that it showed that Liszt would never make great compositions, despite his musical talent.58 There is an article about John Field meeting

Hummel that argues that Field is gruff, unmannered, even disheveled, but his music is a delight, whereas Liszt is mannered, polite, fashionable, but his music is more like Field’s appearance.59

Another article relays an anecdote about an incident when Liszt insisted that a picnic dinner was to take precedence over the presentation of passports to police, which resulted in his arrest.60 All of these articles are borrowed from other journals, except the phrenology article, which was a transcript of the lecture from M. Fossati’s meeting.

One borrowed article in particular deserves special mention because of how it captures journalistic politics of the era. Le Pianiste reprinted a poem from La Romance, which was written in response to a declaration made in the Gazette musicale that Liszt was the “prince of pianists” and that his execution far surpassed that of anyone else.61 The sarcastic poem is written in overly romantic language: Liszt is depicted as an angel who graces the earth with his golden tresses and heavenly fingers.62 Liszt had joined the Gazette’s ranks and had ghostwritten articles

57 “L’Idiote mélomane,” Le Pianiste an 2, 53. Cited in Walker, Franz Liszt: The Virtuoso Years 1811–1847, 151, from “Second Scrapbook of Marie d’Agoult” in Versailles library. Walker also cites Gazette médicale (3 Jan 1835) as the source. 58 “Société Phrénologique,” Le Pianiste an 1, 172–173. 59 “Deux Portraits,” Le Pianiste an 2, 75–77. 60 “Du Passeport,” Le Pianiste an 2, 7. 61 Gazette musicale an 1/1, 5. 62 “À Listz [sic]” by Léon Masson. Le Pianiste an 1, 141. From La Romance an 1/9. 163 that delighted Schlesinger; as a result, the Gazette had been pushing Liszt in its pages.63 The poem makes a joke about this arrangement, mocking the idea that Liszt’s ascendancy to the height of the pianistic pantheon was a journey that was destined to happen even before it had begun. For Lemoine and Chaulieu, as well as the author of the poem from La Romance, Liszt was a phenomenon that piqued interest, but he was not by any means the clear winner in a summation of performers in Paris, and they understood the Gazette’s declaration to be politically motivated.

À LISTZ [sic] TO LISZT

De beaux anges, dit-on, célestes exilés, Beautiful angels, they say, celestial exiles Que la vie et les fleurs n’ont pas jamais consolés, That life and the flowers have never comforted, Profondément perdus dans leur douleur amère, Deeply lost in their bitter pain, Gémissent parmi nous et pleurent sur la terre, Groan among us and cry on the earth, Et, voyant devant aux un étroit horizon, And, seeing before the narrow horizon Se meurtrissent le front aux murs de leur prison. Bruise their foreheads on the walls of their prison. En vain tout leur sourit; vainement la nature In vain everything smiles to them, nature vainly Pour leur plaire revêt sa plus fraîche parure. Dresses in its freshest finery to please them. Tout miel leur est amer, car ils pensent toujours All honey is bitter to them, because they always think A leurs bonheurs d’en haut, à leurs chastes amours, of their divine happiness, of their chaste loves Aux séraphins bénis, à la vierge Marie, Of the blessed seraphim, the Virgin Mary, Rose du firmament, que la terre a nourrie, Rose of the firmament, whom the ground fed, Qui germa dans son sein et qu’un jour l’Éternel, Who sprouted within her that which one day the Lord, Envieux, lui reprit pour parfumer son ciel. Jealous, took to perfume his heaven. Ainsi tu fais, ô Listz! [sic] Comme une jeune fille So you do, O Liszt! Like a young girl Dont le pied blanc s’élance et dont l’œil bleu pétille, Whose white foot leaps and whose blue eyes sparkle, Qui va, court, danse et saute, et s’arrête un instant, Who will, shortly, dance and jump and stop instantly, Puis marche à petits pas et revient en rêvant, Then walk in small steps and return to dreaming, Se cache avec pudeur sous sa mante de moire, Hiding herself modestly under her cape of moire, Quant ta chanson bondit sur les touches d’ivoire, As your song leapt upon the ivory keys. Va, court, danse et revient, puis aux regards de tous Go, shortly, dance, and return, then the gaze of all Semble s’envelopper dans des voiles jaloux, That seems to be wrapped in jealous veils Quand partent sous ta main, qui s’élève et s’abaisse, When going under your hand, which rises and falls, Des accords tout remplis d’une vague tristesse. The chords completely filled with a vague sadness. Lorsque tu fais jaillir les sons mélodieux, When you make the melodious sounds burst forth, Une larme étrangère illumine tes yeux, A foreign tear illuminates your eyes, Et la musique, ainsi qu’une brise marine, And the music, just as a sea breeze T’inonde de fraîcheur et gonfle ta poitrine. Floods you with fresh air and fills your breast. Jeune homme tu parais alors avoir trouvé Young man, you appear then to have found Ce que souvent, hélas! ton ame [sic] avait rêvé: That which often, alas! Your soul had dreamt: Ce sont d’abord des bruits, des mots, des notes pures, It is at first sounds, words, and pure notes Des soupirs étouffés et d’indécis murmures; Of stifled sighs and indecisive murmurs Le souffle qui t’anime et t’embrasse en passant The breath that animates you and touches you in passing

63 Lina Ramann suggests that Liszt’s first article for the Gazette (unsigned) was one that detailed Schlesinger’s duel with Henri Herz’s student, Alexandre Billard (Gazette musicale 1/13 (30 March 1834), 1). Liszt had served as Schlesinger’s second in the duel. Lina Ramann, Franz Liszt: Artist and Man (1811–1840), vol 2, translated by E. Cowdery (London: W.H. Allen & Co, 1882), 129–130. 164

Ne semble qu’effleurer le clavier frémissant. Seems only to graze the quivering keyboard. Quand tu dis, sous par sons, la phrase musicale, When you say, as by sound, the musical phrase, On croirait qu’on entend la perle orientale, One would think one hears the oriental pearl, Qui de la brune esclave a paré le beau sein, With which the brown slave adorned the beautiful breast, Tomber et retenir dans l’argent du bassin. Fall and remain in the silver of the pool. Mais bientôt la chanson veloutée et sereine But soon the smooth and serene song Résonne tout à coup et plus grande et plus pleine, Resonates at once bigger and fuller, L’harmonieux tissu, s’enchaînant sous les doigts, The harmonious fabric, joining itself under your fingers, Se brode entre tes mains qui tombent à la fois, Embroiders itself into your hand and falls at once Et l’allegro vainqueur, les vives ritournelles, And the conquering allegro, the lively ritornellos, S’envolent dans les airs en agitant leurs ailes. Soar in the air while flapping their wings Ah! tu souffres alors et tu baisses ton front, Ah! You suffer so and you lower your forehead En songeant à des biens qui jamais ne viendront, While thinking about the good things that never come Et tu pleures aussi! Dans l’hymne commencée And you cry too! In the burgeoning hymn Tu répands à grands flots le rythme et la pensée, You pour in streams the rhythm and the idea Accablant tour à tour le clavecin d’accords Devastating turn by turn harpsichord chords Qui répondent si mal à tes brûlans efforts, That respond so poorly to your burning efforts Paraissant entrevoir un rayonnant mystère, Appearing to foresee a radiant mystery Éperdu, l’œil hagard, tu veux quitter la terre, Distraught, the haggard eye, you want to leave the earth! Tu veux t’abandonner à ton vol immortel, You want to abandon yourself to your immortal flight Ange aux longs cheveux blonds, qui te souviens Angel with the long blond hair, who remembers the du ciel. heavens. (Léon Masson, La Romance 1/9) (translation by the author)

For the most part, Le Pianiste borrowed these articles because they were in the non- musical press and Lemoine and Chaulieu likely wished to bring these discussions to their own audience. Journal subscriptions were expensive and it is doubtful that the readers of Le Pianiste and other musical papers had read these articles. But, whatever the motivation, these articles show how the idea of Liszt had captured people’s imaginations so much that he could be found discussed in medical journals, phrenological circles, and gossip rags. No other musician is discussed in Le Pianiste like this, treated to endless anecdotes and non-musical discussion. It is important to note that while these borrowed articles may have represented some aspect of

Lemoine and Chaulieu’s opinion, they should not be confused with Le Pianiste’s real feelings on

Liszt. Many of these articles are related in that they show Liszt appearing to think himself better than he was or affecting a pompous persona. While Le Pianiste did reprint these articles, the journal was rather gentle in its own criticism of Liszt. Le Pianiste’s opinions about Liszt are 165 buried in Le Pianiste’s concert reviews and in other articles: for Le Pianiste, Liszt was a talented young man of twenty-two years who needed guidance.

When Liszt was good, Le Pianiste said that nothing could surpass his performance. For instance, at the concert of 28 December 1834, Le Pianiste wrote, “as a performer, M. Liszt displayed a talent about which we have already explained, and which has never shone with a more intense brilliance. It is indeed impossible to use a finer execution, a boldness more unprecedented, more happy, than did Liszt in this piece.”64 Many aspects of Liszt’s playing were excellent; the journal praised him for his improvisation on repeated occasions, for instance.65

Elsewhere, Le Pianiste noted, “we admire him more than anyone.”66 Le Pianiste encouraged his performance at a concert of 23 May 1835 at the Gymnase musicale, “M. Liszt executed the grand piece of Weber with a sagacity with which we are not accustomed; his success was complete.”67

The authors appear to have emphasized these good performances to illustrate what they thought was good taste.

When Liszt’s playing was bad, however, it was noisy, overly embellished, and distracting.

In a duet he performed with Charles Schunke on 12 April 1834, Le Pianiste mused that

Schunke’s playing, which was overpopulated with runs and other excessive quantities of notes,

64 “M. Listz [sic] a montré, comme exécutant, un talent sur le compte duquel nous nous sommes déjà expliqués, et qui n’a jamais brillé d’un plus vif éclat. Il est en effet impossible d’employer une plus belle exécution, une hardiesse plus inouïe, plus heureuse, que ne l’a fait Listz [sic] dans ce morceau...” Le Pianiste, an 2 42 (28 December 1834 concert of Berlioz). Le Pianiste spelled Liszt’s name at “Listz” (the spelling of Liszt’s name was a source of confusion in Paris at the time). At the least, they were consistent in this misspelling, and they mocked the Gazette for spelling it in many different incorrect ways. I have noted the incorrect spelling in the original French, but changed it to the correct spelling in the translations, to avoid marring the text with sics. 65 Le Pianiste an 2, 151, for instance. 66 Le Pianiste an 1, 92. 67 “M. Liszt a exécute le grand morceau de Weber avec une sagesse à laquelle il ne nous a pas accoutumés; son succès à été complet.” Le Pianiste an 2, 121. 166 appeared moderate and wise in comparison to Liszt’s.68 The journal explained, “There are passages in this duet [a mélange of airs of Rossini] that are very remarkable and those that are of a very elevated style; but the last part was excessively noisy; it doesn’t have any merit for us, because, the ensemble — which was perfect, as one would expect from these two virtuosos, — it must be said that it nearly resembled the forty pianos of the académie pianotique.”69 The académie pianotique referred to group piano lessons in the Logier style, which had been recently brought to Paris by Franz Stoepel.70 Thus the sound of two pianos played by Schunke and Liszt together resembled forty amateur pianists banging away in their group lessons.

Among his other bad habits, Liszt made a show of his body while performing, and Le

Pianiste thought this detracted from the music.71 Le Pianiste often remarked that the great masters never moved their bodies and never grimaced, and this enhanced the effect of the difficulty of their own performance. Liszt, on the other hand, was prone to “paroxysms of exaltation.”72 His performance was so exaggerated that it physically harmed him at times. For

68 Le Pianiste an 1, 111. Concert of 12 April 1834. Le Pianiste does not indicate which Schunke played with Liszt on this occasion, either Charles (Karl) and Louis (Ludwig). Louis (1810–1834) is the more famous Schunke because before his death at age 23 in December 1834, he was close friends with Robert Schumann and helped found the Neue Zeitschrift für Musik. However, the little information there is about him seems to place him in Leipzig from 1833. Charles (1801–1839) seems to have been in Paris from 1828. His existence, however, has been largely forgotten, and seems to have been conflated with Louis. A number of pieces by Charles Schunke are listed under Louis’s name in the Bibliothèque Nationale de France. We know they are two different people, because both Fétis’s Biographie Universelle and Le Pianiste’s list of pianists list them separately. Charles seems more likely to have been the performer in the concert, because he seems to have been in Paris consistently, though it is possible the Louis came from Leipzig and performed in this concert. 69 “Il y a dans ce duo des passages très remarquables et d’un style très élevé; mais la dernière partie en a bruyant à l’excès; ce qui pas un mérite pour nous, car, à l’ensemble près — qui était parfait, comme on devait l’attendre de ces deux virtuoses, — il faut dire que cela ressemblait un peu aux 40 pianos de l’académie pianotique.” Le Pianiste an 1, 111. 70 See for instance Gazette musicale an 1/25, 195, and Fétis, Biographie universelle. 71 This criticism was not unique to Le Pianiste: Fétis mentioned similar qualities in early 1833 in the Revue musicale. Mentioned in Gooley, The Virtuoso Liszt, 21. Gooley suggests that the criticism caused Liszt to change his performance style. 72 Le Pianiste an 2, 95. 167 instance, at a concert of 9 April 1835, Le Pianiste witnessed Liszt faint at the piano.73 Naturally the journal attributed this to his overworking the notes with his body:

there are certainly remarkable passages for the piano and interesting effects for the orchestra in his Fantasie symphonique; but the exaggeration there is such, in general, that it chokes the good things that are sometimes found in a piece; we do not insist on this point today, because the nervous excitement that this exaggeration produced in M. Liszt, nearly proved to be fatal, and that a crisis, furthered progressively by the fatigue of the concert, ended in [him having] a complete blackout.74

Liszt’s overwrought style, for Le Pianiste, not only smothered the good parts of his music, but also suffocated Liszt himself nearly to death.

Liszt also had poor manners when it came to the timeliness of his performances: Le

Pianiste complained that Liszt was often extremely late to his own concerts, or that he failed to appear at all. For instance, Le Pianiste attended a concert on 21 February 1834 where Liszt was three hours late. The concert was organized by the pianist Albert Sowinsky, but he had developed a finger infection and was unable to play, so he asked Schunke, Liszt, and Chopin, to fill in for him. The concert hall was packed at least a half hour early with paying customers, waiting for the concert to start at 8pm. The audience waited over three hours until Liszt finally arrived at

11:30.75 Granted, this was not a concert he had organized, but he had agreed to appear at

Sowinsky’s request. Chopin, according to the story, did not arrive until near midnight, but he was not charged with lateness elsewhere, whereas it was a continuing problem with Liszt.

73 Stephan D. Lindeman, Structural Novelty and Tradition in the Early Romantic Piano Concerto (Stuyvesant, NY: Pendragon Press, 1999), 175, confirms 9 April 1835 concert of unpublished Fantaisie symphonique. Le Pianiste an 2, 95. 74 “[...] il y a certes des passages remarquables pour le piano et des effets intéressans pour l’orchestre, dans sa fantaisie symphonique; mais l’exagération y est telle, en général, qu’elle étouffe jusqu’aux bonnes choses que l’on rencontre quelquefois dans un morceau; nous n’insistons pas sur ce point aujourd’hui, puisque l’excitation nerveuse que cette exagération a produite sur M. Listz [sic], a failli lui être fatale, et qu’une crise, amenée progressivement par la fatigue du concert, s’est terminée par un évanouissement complet.” The article also noted that the crowd would not leave Liszt alone, and waited attentively for him to come to. Le Pianiste an 2, 95. 75 Le Pianiste an 1, 76. 168

At another concert, 21 March 1834, Liszt was so late that the concert organizer had to leave the concert to fetch Liszt at his house, where he was found idly passing time.76 Le Pianiste explained:

[Extreme tardiness] is abuse that cannot be tolerated, and that talent, whatever it is, cannot justify at all. That Mr. Liszt obligingly promised to beautify a particular concert by one of these brilliant and warm improvisations with which he owes his fame, a swarm of music lovers appeared from all over, came rushing in the hopes of hearing him, and he did not come; that is understandable because here there is only a voluntary promise: only politeness requires his presence, and not everyone feels bound by that social law; however, in a paying concert, in a concert where the official program announces his cooperation, and in which maybe half the audience came only to hear him, [...] that in such a concert, Liszt is three hours late or does not come at all; that the beneficiary, on thorns, flies hastily to Liszt’s house in the hopes of finally bringing him, and finds him passably playing War or meditating on the drama of Antony, that is something we think is without excuse.77

Le Pianiste believed that Liszt did not respect his fame; his behavior harmed the artists who were counting on him to improve their concerts and the fans who came to hear him. He also made it more difficult for journalists to support him. Lemoine and Chaulieu specifically mentioned that critics (ie. themselves) had busy concert schedules, and could not waste their night waiting for one person to perform.78 Perhaps Le Pianiste planned to write about Liszt and could not: Le

76 Le Pianiste an 1, 92–94. 77 “Il est des abus qu’on ne saurait tolérer, et que le talent, quel qu’il soit, ne justifie point. Que M. Listz [sic], par exemple, que nous admirons d’ailleurs plus que personne, que M. Liszt promette complaisamment d’embellir une réunion particulière par une de ces improvisations brillantes et chaleureuses auxquelles il doit sa renommée, qu’une nuée d’amateurs convoqués de toute part, accourent dans l’espoir de l’entendre, et qu’il ne vienne point, cela se conçoit; il n’y a ici qu’une promesse bénévole: la politesse seule exigerait sa présence, et tout le monde ne se croit pas soumis à cette loi sociale; mais que, dans un concert payé, dans un concert auquel le programme officiel annonce sa coopération, et où la moitié peut-être de l’auditoire ne s’est rendue que pour lui, puisque le bénéficiaire a pris celui de le faire entendre; que dans un tel concert, M. Listz [sic] tarde 3 heures à venir ou ne vienne pas du tout; que le bénéficiaire, sur les épines, vole en toute hâte chez lui, dans l’espoir de l’amener enfin, et le trouve jouant paisiblement à la bataille ou méditant le drame d’Antony, voilà une chose qui nous paraître sans excuse, que le public devrait qualifier de manière à se empêcher le renouvellement.” Le Pianiste an 1, 93. 78 Le Pianiste an 1, 92–93. 169

Pianiste noted that if a journalist cannot hear the artist in question, then he cannot “distribute merited praise.”79

Liszt only published one written piece while Le Pianiste was in print, his Harmonies poétiques et religieuses, which takes its title from a set of poems by Alphonse de Lamartine.

There, Le Pianiste found a similar self-important quality. The piece promised too much and delivered too little; worse, it insulted anyone who did not understand it. In the printed preface to

Liszt’s piece, Liszt quotes from the preface of the Lamartine work of the same name, which praises the type of person who has a meditative soul and who “takes refuge in the world of their thoughts.”80 Liszt seems to suggest that he is such a person, as his preface stops at the line that reads “we pray with your words, we cry with your tears, we invoke with your songs.”81

Naturally, Liszt’s piece follows these words, suggesting that his piece is an example of a song or a piece of music by a meditative soul that might be suitable for invocation. To this, Le Pianiste responded sarcastically, “Here is M. Liszt, who deals with a genre that we think could be called the genre spiritualiste; he begins a new path, and if the masses of contemporary pianists refuse to think about this genre, it’s apparently because they are not at the proper level of mystical and

79 “[...] distribuer les éloges mérités.” Le Pianiste an 1, 92. 80 “Il y a des âmes méditatives, que la solitude et la contemplation, élèvent invinciblement vers les idées infinies, c’est à dire vers la religion; toutes leurs pensées se convertissent en enthousiasme et en prière, toute leur existence est un hymne muet á [sic] la Divinité et à l'espérance. Elles cherchent en elles mêmes et dans la création qui les environne des degrés pour monter à Dieu, des expressions et des images pour se le révéler à elles mêmes, pour se révéler à lui: puissé-je leur en prêter quelques-unes! “Il y a des coeurs brisés par la douleur, refoulés par le monde, qui se réfugient dans le monde de leurs pensées, dans la solitude de leur âme pour pleurer, pour attendre ou pour adorer; puissent-ils se laisser visiter par une Muse solitaire comme eux, trouver une sympathie dans ses accords, et dire quelque fois en l’écoutant: nous prions avec tes paroles, nous pleurons avec tes larmes, nous invoquons avec tes chants.” Liszt, Harmonies poétiques et religieuses (Leipzig: Hofmeister, 1835). 81 See above. The Lamartine preface does not end at this point. See Alphonse de Lamartine, Harmonies poétiques et religieuses [1830] (Paris: Hachette et Cie, 1918), ii–iii. 170 contemplative education.”82 Further, “the piece we are announcing and that everyone will want to obtain, refuses analysis; it says everything, or it says nothing, depending on whether or not one knows how to understand it.”83 In addition, Le Pianiste joked about the strange musical direction at the start of the score, that it must be played with a “profound sense of boredom

[ennui]” (See Example 4.3).84 Le Pianiste thought the work was strange, and the defensiveness worse. Liszt wrote two other versions of Harmonies poétiques et religieuses, and the last was published in 1853.85

Example 4.3: Opening of Franz Liszt, Harmonies poétiques et religieuses (Leipzig: Hofmeister, 1835).

While, for Le Pianiste, Liszt was a grand artist with a great talent, he had not yet reached his full potential, and his own habits stood in his way. Le Pianiste’s authors could not encourage

82 “Voici M. Listz [sic] qui aborde un genre que nous ne croyons pouvoir appeler le genre spiritualiste; il entre dans une voie nouvelle, et, si la masse des pianistes contemporains refuse de croire à ce genre, c’est qu’apparemment elle n’est pas à la hauteur convenable d’éducation mystique et contemplative.” Le Pianiste an 2, 129. 83 “Le morceau que nous annonçons et que tout le monde voudra se procurer, se refuse à l’analyse; il dit tout, ou ne dit rien, suivant que l’on sait le comprendre.” Ibid. 84 “Puisse cet ouvrage, qu’il faut exécuter avec un profond sentiment d’ennui, [phrase from the piece] procurer des jouissances ineffables à tous ses auditeurs.” Ibid.; and Liszt, Harmonies poétiques et religieuses. Of course, Liszt must have meant ennui as listlessness, but ennui more commonly means boredom in French. 85 Kenneth Hamilton, “Liszt’s Early and Weimar Piano Works,” The Cambridge Companion to Liszt, Kenneth Hamilton, ed. (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2005), 61. 171 everything that Liszt did, and most likely hoped that Liszt would heed their advice.86 For them,

Liszt was a lone artist, and was not a part of a lasting school. Le Pianiste wrote, “Liszt is an individuality: like Paganini, like Victor Hugo, Berlioz, there is no germ of a school there. That, at least, is our opinion.”87 However, judging from the vast variety of sources from which Le

Pianiste borrowed, we can also see that Liszt was a source of fascination.

Ferdinand Hiller

The German pianist and composer Ferdinand Hiller (1811–1885) had moved to Paris in

1828, and he brought with him a palpably foreign concert repertoire and personal style. Le

Pianiste’s writing on Hiller, especially in its first year, is focused on differences between French and German taste. While Hiller’s vision for the future of music was not entirely the same as Le

Pianiste’s, his music was serious and lacked tours d’adresse, which pleased Lemoine and

Chaulieu: “The music of Hiller is in a style that is a bit severe; it is not at all suitable for lovers of roulettes; but that which would be a fault for some is a quality for us [emphasis original].”88

Lemoine and Chaulieu therefore advised Hiller on how he might be better received in the French capital, and by Le Pianiste’s second year, Hiller appeared to have taken this advice and Le

Pianiste became one of his full-fledged supporters.

Like other pianists, Hiller was a pianist-composer, and wrote and performed his own works in concerts. But in addition, he also wrote serious German chamber and orchestral works

86 Gooley suggests that Liszt did change his style in response to Fétis’s criticism in the Revue musicale. The Virtuoso Liszt, 21 footnote. 87 “Quant à Listz [sic], nos lecteurs connaissent parfaitement notre opinion sur son talent. Listz [sic] est une individualité, comme Paganini, comme Victor Hugo, Berlioz, il n’y a pas de germe d’école là dedans; telle est au moins notre opinion.” Le Pianiste, an 2, 45 footnote. 88 “La musique de Hiller est d’un genre un peu sévère; elle ne convient point aux amateurs de roulettes; mais ce qui sera un défaut pour ceux-là est une qualité pour nous.” Le Pianiste an 1, 95. 172

— his first two symphonies were performed in Paris in the mid-1830s, for instance — and he performed rather unusual and historic repertoire at his concerts, such as unknown pieces by J.S.

Bach, Mozart, and Beethoven. His only concert of the 1833–34 season, for instance, included the following weighty program: two movements of his first symphony, the première of his second symphony, a Mozart piano concerto, a Bach triple concerto, a piano duet of his own composition, as well as a violin solo and some songs.89 Le Pianiste advertised it as one of the “most lovely and interesting of the season.”90 Hiller’s choice of concert repertoire, as well as his interest in writing large-scale German orchestral works painted Hiller as especially German.

Le Pianiste welcomed Hiller’s commitment to “elevated” music, but believed that his

“totally German education harm[ed] his popularity a little in France.”91 To alleviate this problem, the journal initially proposed strategies on how he might better appeal to a Parisian audience. In a review of a December 1833 concert, Le Pianiste encouraged Hiller to “forget school” a little and add “air” to his dense compositions, because “the orchestra is too often employed en masse.”92 A Mozart concerto (K. 491) was “feebly” accompanied by Hiller, and did not “produce the effect it might have expected.”93 To remedy this, Le Pianiste suggested that Hiller needed to

89 The complete program heard at the Salle des menus-plaisirs on 15 December 1833 was as follows: two movements of Hiller’s first symphony; the premiere of Hiller’s second symphony; Mozart’s piano concerto in C minor (K. 491) performed by Hiller; the allegro from a J.S. Bach concerto on three pianos performed by Hiller, Liszt, and Chopin (either BWV 1063 or 1064); a piano duet, composed by Hiller, performed by him and Liszt; as well as a violin solo and some songs. Le Pianiste an 1, 26. The Bach may have come to Hiller through his friendship with Mendelssohn; a biographical article on Moscheles reports that Moscheles played a Bach concerto on three keyboards with Mendelssohn and Clara Wieck in 1831. See Jerome Roche, “Ignaz Moscheles 1794–1870,” The Musical Times 111/1525 (March 1970), 265. 90 “[...] promet d’être un des plus beaux et des plus intéressans de la saison.” Le Pianiste an 1, 25–26. 91 “[...] ouvrages de conception élevée [...]” Le Pianiste an 1, 154; and “F. Hiller, à 22 ans, possède la science musicale à un haut degré; son éducation tout allemande nuit un peu à sa popularité en France [...]” Le Pianiste an 1, 42. 92 “Quand il aura un peu oublié l’école, et que ses compositions d’orchestre auront plus d’air — car l’orchestre y est trop souvent employé en masse, — il sera mieux apprécié.” Le Pianiste an 1, 42. 93 “Le concerto en ut mineur de Mozart n’a pas produit tout l’effet qu’on devait en attendre; le premier morceau a, en général, été faiblement accompagné.” Ibid. 173

“warm the last part of it with some ornaments in good taste.”94 Perhaps it was the public’s fault, the journal mused, because, as it explained, Mozart concertos were in an older style where the piano was at the same level as the orchestra; the piano did not “shine” in the way it did in

“modern” concertos.95 Adding ornaments would liven the piano part and cause the audience to better appreciate it.

Other problems with Hiller’s reception were blamed on the public, too. Le Pianiste thought that Hiller’s piano duet, performed at the same December 1833 concert by the author and

Liszt, was “ingenious, but cold for the public.”96 The journal suggested that Hiller give a preconcert lecture to explain to the audience that his duet was meant to be understood as a conversation between “two people — a man and a woman.”97 Presumably this is how Le Pianiste made sense of the work. Luckily, for Hiller, however, the piece succeeded because of the finale, which was “lively and spoken with warmth by Hiller, and with rage by Liszt.”98

Le Pianiste, of course, was interested in elevating public taste by banishing meaningless tours d’adresse and promoting the fathers of piano. But Hiller sometimes went too far toward the erudite in his music for Lemoine and Chaulieu’s taste: “That which one can desire in the works of Hiller is not more science, more know-how, or more melody: there is plenty of those things.

What one can desire in the works of this young composer are forms that are a little less scholastic and some sacrifices to the taste of the public [...] It’s melodies that are more external [...] —

94 “[...] cependant nous aurions désiré que Hiller en réchauffât la dernière partie par quelques ornemens de bon goût.” Ibid. 95 “Il ne devait donc pas exiger du piano cet éclat, ce brillant qui distingue les concertos modernes [...]” Ibid. 96 “Cette composition est ingénieuse, bien faite, mais froide pour le public [...]” Ibid. 97 “[...] conversation de deux personnes — homme et femme [...]” Ibid. 98 “[...] vive et qui a été dite avec chaleur par Hiller, et avec emportement par Listz [sic]” Ibid. 174 melodies that are a little less enveloped in harmony.”99 It was especially in harmony that Hiller’s

“German education” was apparent, judging by a nearly identical complaint for one of Hiller’s string quartets: “we think that the author sacrificed the melody too much for the harmony there, we can feel the work of it, too much.”100 Similarly, Le Pianiste noted that Caprice en forme de walse (op. 2) by another German — the fourteen-year-old Clara Wieck — had “too much harmony” and suggested that “If the pepper is good, one does not need too much.”101

By the next year (the 1834–35 concert season), Hiller appears to have changed his style, and Le Pianiste’s criticism of him being “too German” waned. Instead, he was commended for making choices in line with Le Pianiste’s way of thinking. Hiller showed respect for the musicians of the past: he teamed up with the violinist Pierre Baillot to produce a series of concerts with historical (and often German) repertoire.102 These concerts included pieces by

Boccherini, Bach, Haydn, a Mozart string quartet (G minor), and Beethoven’s op. 47 violin sonata (the Kreutzer sonata). Le Pianiste praised these efforts for their didactic quality: “There is good and useful education in these two concerts — remarkable by the choice and execution of the pieces. Conscientious people cannot listen without profiting from the masterpieces of five grand masters; since the execution left nothing to be desired.”103

99 “Ce que l’on peut désirer dans les ouvrages d’Hiller, ce n’est pas plus de science, ce n’est pas plus de savoir-faire, ce n’est pas plus de mélodie, il y en a partout. Ce que l’on peut désirer dans les ouvrages de ce jeune compositeur, ce sont des formes un peu moins scolastiques, ce sont quelques sacrifices au goût de public, nous entendons toujours parler du bon public. Ce sont des mélodies un peu plus extérieures, qu’on nous passe l’expression; — des mélodies un peu moins enveloppées dans l’harmonie [...]” Le Pianiste an 1, 154. 100 “[...] nous pensons que l’auteur y a un peu trop sacrifié la mélodie à l’harmonie, on y sent trop le travail.” Le Pianiste an 2, 69. 101 “Cette personne [...] a évidemment étudié l’harmonie; trop, peut-être, car elle a bien souvent pris les exceptions pour des règles. «Si le poivre est bon, il n’en faut pas trop.»” Le Pianiste an 1, 29–30. Lemoine and Chaulieu did not know Clara’s age at this time. 102 Concerts held 31 January, 7 February and 22 February 1835. 103 “Il y a de bons et utiles enseignemens dans ces deux séances remarquables par le choix et l’exécution des morceaux. Les gens conscientieux [sic] n’écoutent pas sans fruit les chefs-d’œuvres de cinq grands maîtres; puisque l’exécution n’a rien laissé à désirer.” Le Pianiste an 2, 64. 175

Performing Bach in Paris at this time was particularly unusual. The previous year, Hiller had organized the performance of a Bach triple concerto on three pianos, played by Hiller, Liszt, and Chopin, and it was not well-received.104 Le Pianiste mused that it did not impress because the piece was over 100 years old and the performers did not have 60 years between them.105 But in the concert held with Baillot, the unnamed Bach piece fascinated Lemoine and Chaulieu:

“What can be more perfect than the way in which Baillot and Hiller gave voice to the musical curiosities of Bach! These pieces where the piquant originality is nearly unknown today, and where the tradition is almost lost, strongly interested artists.”106 Le Pianiste commented that this would no doubt be a seminal event in Hiller’s career, and hoped he and Baillot would continue to produce concerts in this vein.107

In these later concerts, Hiller appeared to consider the venue when making his programing decisions by choosing lighter works for larger audiences, and Le Pianiste welcomed this newfound understanding. For instance, Le Pianiste praised Hiller’s choice to forgo playing his quartets at a large concert, and instead perform his Rêveries and Études, which were “full of charm, delicate melodies and thoughts,” and more appropriate for a large audience than his serious quartets.108 Through this decision, he exhibited what Le Pianiste thought was sagacity: that certain genres were best appreciated under appropriate circumstances.

104 15 December 1833, either BWV 1063 or 1064. 105 “Si le morceau de J.-S. Bach à trois pianos n’a pas été compris par l’auditoire, c’est qu’il n’a pas été exécuté avec la couleur qui convient à cette musique; il fallait d’ailleurs ne voir là que la singularité d’une composition qui a plus de 100 ans, et qui était exécutée par trois virtuoses qui en ont à peine 60 à eux trois [emphasis original].” Le Pianiste an 1, 42. 106 “[...] mais quoi de plus parfait que la manière dont Baillot et Hiller ont dit les curiosités musicales de Bach! ces pièces dont l’originalité piquante est presque inconnue aujourd’hui, et dont la tradition est à peu près perdue, ont vivement intéressé les artistes.” Le Pianiste an 2, 64. 107 Ibid. 108 “[...] pleins de charmes, de mélodie et de pensées délicates.” Le Pianiste an 2, 69. 176

Le Pianiste’s reviews of Hiller’s published piano works lacked the rhetoric about his music being too German, though they did emphasize his high-minded attitude that went beyond the piano: “for him, the piano is only a means, his nature pushes it and must lead it further.”109 Le

Pianiste ‘s review of Hiller’s op. 10 Rondo fantastique reminded Le Pianiste of the “tender and impassioned style of Weber” and was a welcome relief to the uninspired works that the journal claimed it had been “inundated with” as of late.110 The journal printed numerous examples in the supplement illustrating the “totally new and profoundly felt” melodies and “ballads full of sentiment” that were found in the work.111 Echoing the idea that certain pieces were best appreciated under specific circumstances, Le Pianiste explained that this lofty piece was best suited for private hearing among musicians, not a salon for amateurs or a grand concert: “This piece is also the type which must be heard in intimate groups and by ears worthy of appreciating it.”112

Hiller’s op. 9 La Danse des fées was called a “pretty and original” example of the “aerian genre,” a light work in E major, while his op. 11 La Sérénade was thought to be too orchestrally conceived. Le Pianiste offered the gentle reminder that works for the piano did not have the same tolerance for repetition as an orchestra.113 Hiller’s op. 15 Grand Études and op. 14 Caprices earned him a joint review over two pages long. The 24 études in 6 books were described in detail, the best pieces, in Le Pianiste’s view, singled out and praised. While Le Pianiste found

109 “[...] le piano n’est qu’un moyen, sa nature le pousse et doit le mener plus loin.” Le Pianiste an 1, 42. 110 “[...] La couleur de ce morceau rappelle un peu le style tendre et passionné de Weber [...]” and “Au milieu des productions alignées dont nous sommes inondées depuis quelque temps [...]” Le Pianiste an 1, 24. 111 “[...] tout-à-fait neuf et profondément senti [...]” and “[...] plein de sentiment.” Ibid. 112 “Ce morceau est d’ailleurs du genre de ceux qui doivent être entendus en petit comité et par des oreilles dignes de l’apprécier.” Ibid. 113 Le Pianiste an 1, 44. Both op. 9 and 11 were published by Schlesinger. Bibliographie de la France, 1833, 824. 177 many of the études new, exciting, and impressive, the review signaled out the sixth book especially as a masterpiece: “Everything there is beautiful, useful, and difficult” (See Example

4.4).114 The Caprices were worthy of study, just like the Études, and while certain interior pedal points were too “hard,” many other details were “on the good side of originality.”115

Example 4.4: Opening étude in the sixth book of Hiller’s Grand études op. 15 (Paris: J. Delahante, 1834). “Everything there is beautiful, useful, and difficult” (Le Pianiste an 1, 156).

Hiller also showed humility and a devotion to self-improvement that pleased Lemoine and Chaulieu. Just as they had praised Dussek for remaining humble in the face of great fame, and Kalkbrenner for challenging himself after success in the 1820s, they lauded Hiller for making various changes to his concerts. A review of a 22 Feb 1835 matinee organized by Hiller admired his commitment to better himself and suggested this was a recipe for greatness:

The salons of Erard found themselves full long before the starting time with a crowd of artists and distinguished amateurs, envious in applauding a young man who has already gained a good reputation, and who has the virtue, somewhat rare, to pursue his studies

114 “[...] tout cela est beau, utile, et difficile.” Le Pianiste an 1, 156. 115 “[...] plusieurs détails, marqués au bon coin de l’originalité [...]” Ibid. 178

with laudable activity, without being blinded by his success, guided by the well-founded hope, no doubt, of following in the footsteps of the greatest masters.116

This combination of humility, respect for the past, and interest in self-improvement embodied Le Pianiste’s ideal musician. While the authors made comments about Hiller being too

German, he nonetheless earned their approval for the core qualities that were so fundamental to

Le Pianiste’s aesthetic: “Hiller is on a good path,” the journal explained.117 Hiller had proven himself in many exceptional qualities, and the journal concluded, “All this work of conscience proves, in M. Hiller, a natural vocation for elevated music, profound studies, a great respect for masters, a beautiful imagination developed by science, and finally, the elements of a good future

[emphasis original].”118

Henri Herz Henri Herz (1803–1888) belongs to Le Pianiste’s quatrième époque by his year of birth, but in many ways he seems transported from another era. Born in 1803, he is Berlioz’s exact contemporary, and just seven years older than Chopin. But Herz started his career as a composer at a young age, and much of his reputation was built in the 1820s when he published a series of popular works in the style of Moscheles. In the 1830s, Lemoine and Chaulieu saw him as person who needed guidance to grow beyond his juvenile works, and their style of criticism shares

116 Hiller concert review 22 Feb 1834. “La matinée musicale donné par M. Hiller, le 22 février, a offert beaucoup d’intérêt aux véritables amis de la musique et d’un talent consciencieux; et, quoi qu’ils soient, nous osons le dire, en assez petit nombre à Paris, les salons de M. Erard se sont trouvés remplis, long-temps avant l’heure, d’une foule d’artistes et d’amateurs distingués, jaloux d’applaudir un jeune homme qui a déjà su se conquérir une belle réputation, et qui a le mérite, assez rare, de poursuivre ses études avec une louable activité, sans se laisser éblouir pas ses succès, guidé par l’espoir bien fondé, sans doute, de marcher sur les traces des plus grand maîtres.” Le Pianiste an 1, 68. 117 “Hiller est dans une bonne route.” Le Pianiste an 2, 95. 118 “Tout cet ouvrage œuvre de conscience, prouve, dans M. Hiller, une vocation naturelle pour la haute musique, des études profondes, un grand respect pour les maîtres, une belle imagination développée par la science, et enfin les élémens d’un bel avenir.” Ibid. 179 similarities to others in the quatrième époque, especially in the way that they counseled and attempted to mold him.

Born in Vienna, Herz moved to Paris around 1807 with his large, musical family.119 Five

Herz children enrolled in the Paris Conservatoire, but Henri was the most successful. After he won the premier prix in 1818, his reputation only grew, and by the mid-1830s he was able to sell his compositions to publishers for four times the going rate.120 But his fame made him a target for familiar disapproval: that his music pandered to popular culture and did not reflect deep artistic ideals. Herz is now understood to represent the type of empty virtuosity that German romanticism wished to quell — for instance, while Robert Schumann wrote a set of variations based on a theme by Herz in 1832, indicating his interest in Herz’s music, by mid-century he claimed that the point of starting his Neue Zeitschrift für Musik in 1834, as Leon Plantinga summarized it, was to “wage war” against Herz and other piano virtuosos.121

Lemoine and Chaulieu’s real opinion about Herz is difficult to discern because Le

Pianiste’s criticism for Herz is tangled up in a veritable quagmire of competing interests that mask much of the truth. The writing on Herz is sometimes contradictory and stilted: delicate, deferential phrasing hides the conflicts behind it, but odd and constricted prose points to the existence of these same conflicts. Le Pianiste was critical of Herz for copying Moscheles’s style and popularizing tours d’adresse in the 1820s, and his success in doing so was called a

119 Please see the revised Dictionary of Conservatoire students, Frédéric de la Grandville, Le Conservatoire de musique de Paris (1795–1815): Dictionnaire biographique des élèves et aspirants du Conservatoire de musique de Paris (1795–1815) [2014], 303–305. . Date of 1807 is based on eldest sibling’s date of admission to the Conservatoire. 120 Fétis, Biographie universelle. 121 Schumann, Fantasie satyrique (based on theme of Herz), 1832, from works list in John Daverio and Eric Sams, “Schumann, Robert,” Grove Music Online, Oxford Music Online, . Leon Plantinga, Schumann as Critic (New Haven and London: Yale University Press, 1967), 17. 180

“misfortune for art.”122 However, because Herz was the subject of an unprecedented smear campaign in the Gazette musicale, Le Pianiste responded by lauding Herz’s positive qualities.

This praise was conditional, however, and the journal focused on how he had matured since his early days and encouraged him to fully abandon the style that had made him famous.

To understand Le Pianiste’s articles on Herz, it is necessary to explain what was being written in the Gazette. Beginning in its first issue in January 1834, the Gazette published a number of articles that appealed for the cessation of the publication of variations because, as it argued, the genre was meaningless. However, while a plethora of variations were published each year, these articles only focused on ones that Herz had written. The Gazette argued that Herz, whose variations were especially in demand, did not merit the title of composer because variations “excluded all creation.”123 Discrediting Herz was high on the Gazette’s agenda: normally music criticism focused on new pieces of published music, but the Gazette went as far as to publish a condemnatory review of a work that was a decade old.124

Le Pianiste did not accept the veracity of this campaign, and Le Pianiste’s largest and most substantial article on Herz (also its first) was a direct response to those printed in the

Gazette musicale. From later content, it is clear that Le Pianiste thought that the Gazette was

“biased,” but this first response to the Gazette was innocuous and non-combative.125 In this context, Herz’s skill and precocity were commended: “Rare thing, he has become, from the little prodigy that he was, one of the premiere pianists in Europe. Since Mozart, we scarcely see it

122 Le Pianiste an 2, 60. 123 “[...] excluent toute création [...]” Gazette musicale an 1/1 (5 January 1834), 3. 124 Gazette musicale an 2/6 (8 Feb 1835), 51–52. Herz op. 21. 125 See for instance, “Il paraît que c’est un parti pris chez la Gazette, et qu’elle veut scandaliser tous ceux qu’elle n’endort pas.” Le Pianiste an 2, 15. 181 outside of Beethoven, Liszt and Herz, who have held on to that childhood promise.”126 The work that launched Herz’s career, Variations brillantes sur l'air de “Ma Fanchette est charmante” [Boieldieu] was hailed as “colossal,” and the journal expounded on its power: “The feats of skill of which it is peppered, the happy boldness with which he performed them, raised his approval. Vainly, the envious fought against him; they failed in front of the general craze, and were forced to try to imitate him.”127

While this passage appears to be purely complimentary, other writing in Le Pianiste casts it in a different light. In this article, the “envious” who were forced to write like Herz are not named, and Herz’s power and influence are emphasized. Elsewhere, however, those who fought against Herz’s style are painted as righteous, and they are revealed to be Chaulieu and Hérold.128

While this early article promoted La Fanchette’s seminal importance in the history of French piano music, in another, Le Pianiste lamented the work’s influence. These articles may represent divergent opinions between Lemoine and Chaulieu, but the similarity of the ideas point to a single author.129 Instead, these comments provide an example of how ideas in the music press can easily be manipulated to serve a particular function: in this case, an attempt to counter the

Gazette’s negative press.

126 “Chose rare, il est devenu, de petit prodige qu’il était, un des premiers pianistes de l’Europe. Depuis Mozart, nous ne voyons guère que Beethowen, Listz [sic] et H. Herz, qui aient tenu ce que leur enfance promettait.” Le Pianiste an 1, 34. 127 “La réputation d’H. Herz, brillante dès son début, devint tout-à-coup colossale lors de la publication de son 10e ouvrage, la Fanchette. Les tours d’adresse dont il est parsemé, et l’heureuse hardiesse avec laquelle il les exécutait, enlevèrent tous les suffrages. Vainement les envieux s’élevèrent-ils contre lui; ils échouèrent devant l’engouement général, et furent contraints de chercher à l’imiter.” Le Pianiste an 1, 34. Henri Herz, op. 10, Variations brillantes sur l'air de Ma Fanchette est charmante (pub. 1823; hereafter La Fanchette). See Laure Schnapper, Henri Herz, magnat du piano: La vie musicale en France au XIXe siècle (1815–1870) (Paris: Éditions de l’École des hautes études en sciences sociales, 2011), appendix. 128 Le Pianiste an 2, 60. 129 The author of the latter article (an 2, 59–61) is Lemoine. 182

The Gazette’s treatment of Herz amid the rivalry between Le Pianiste and the Gazette, however, was not the only event that colored Le Pianiste’s criticism. Prior publishing contracts between Le Pianiste and Herz affected it too. The “colossal” work that Le Pianiste described repeatedly, La Fanchette, was published by Lemoine in 1823.130 It would be normal for Lemoine and his journal to promote the piece, especially since it had made him a lot of money. But Le

Pianiste broke with typical business practices in this case. While it made a point to describe the work’s significance, it objected to it as well.131 The work was not what Le Pianiste stood for, and the integrity of the journal as one of “progress” was more important than protecting Lemoine’s catalogue.

To square the contradictions between the former relationship between Lemoine and Herz and the principles of Le Pianiste, the journal focused on how Herz had improved since his early days, and delicately described the significance of his early work. Le Pianiste explained that while

La Fanchette was wildly popular, it was not “irreproachable,” and it praised Herz for not

“revelling” in his success and for continuing his study of composition instead.132 His next piece after La Fanchette, op. 11 Rondo brillant (also published by Lemoine), was “already more correct.”133 His best works were listed as variations on the following: Theme de Paër (op. 29), La

Violette (op. 48), Le Siège de Corinthe (op. 36), La Dernière Pensée de Weber (op. 51), Le Mont

130 See Laure Schnapper, Henri Herz, magnat du piano: La vie musicale en France au XIXe siècle (1815–1870) (Paris: Éditions de l’École des hautes études en sciences sociales, 2011), appendix. 131 Le Pianiste an 1, 34. 132 “Toutefois la Fanchette n’était pas un ouvrage irréprochable at H. Herz, au lieu de se complaire dans l’immense succès qu’il obtenait, travailla la composition.” Le Pianiste an 1, 34. 133 “[...] son op. 11 est déjà plus correct.” Ibid. 183

Carmel (op. 43), Euryanthe (op. 62), and finally Le Crociato (op. 23), which seemed “perfect” to

Le Pianiste (See Example 4.5).134 Le Crociato was published by Lemoine in 1825.

Example 4.5: Variation 4 excerpt from Herz, Le Crociato (Paris: Lemoine, 1825). “Perfect” (Le Pianiste an 1, 34).

By the time the Gazette appeared to have abandoned condemning Herz, Le Pianiste was less laudatory. Lemoine and Chaulieu did not attack him or belittle Herz, as the Gazette had, but

Le Pianiste openly suggested to him that he use his extraordinary skills to invalidate the

Gazette’s claims. When he failed, Le Pianiste expressed its disappointment. For instance, a

134 Full titles are as follows: op. 10 Variations brillantes sur l'aire de Ma Fanchette est charmante, pub. 1823, Lemoine; op. 23 Variations sur un chœur favori de Crociato de Meyerbeer, pub. 1825, Lemoine; op. 29, Variations et finale sur un air de ballet de Mr. Paër, pub. 1826, Lemoine; op. 36 Variations sur le chœur et la marche des Grecs du Siège de Corinthe [Rossini], pub. 1827, Troupenas; op. 43 Variations quasi fantaisie sur trio favori de Mazanello de ND du mont Carmel [Carafa], pub. 1828, Paris frères; op.48 Variations brillantes sur la cavatine favorite de La Violette [Carafa] pub. 1829, veuve Leduc; op. 51 Variations brillantes pour pf sur la dernière valse de Weber [Reissiger], pub. 1830, Meissonnier; op. 62 Grandes variations pour pf sur le chœur des chasseurs d’Euryanthe [Weber], pub. 1831, Petit. Please see Laure Schnapper, Henri Herz, magnat du piano, for a complete list of Herz works. 184 review of his Variations on O dolce concento of Mozart stated, “certainly we would like H. Herz to combat his enemies with better weapons, and we are angry to have to announce yet another work of the same genre that is too feeble for fighting.”135

Le Pianiste also pushed Herz to abandon, at least from time to time, the genre of variations for which he was so known. This action would show that the Gazette had misunderstood his talent. When Herz published his op. 79 La Coquette, a waltz or “scène de bal,” Le Pianiste was thrilled that Herz had “been unfaithful to air variées.”136 Lemoine and

Chaulieu also wished that he would continue writing works like this, noting, “we hope that H.

Herz will not stop on such a good path. — That he will not be frightened, especially, as his regulars are going to make a great outcry, not finding their somersaults and the accustomed coda.”137 However, Lemoine and Chaulieu regretted that the next work that came to their attention was another set of variations, on Anna Bolena (op. 78).138

Herz’s performances likewise stirred up contradictory ideas in Le Pianiste. After a Herz concert on 22 March 1834, Le Pianiste wrote that his playing “always [has] a clear mechanism, a great lightness underlies it all.”139 His execution at the concert was “irreproachable,” and he

“worthily defended his reputation” against the Gazette.140 But Le Pianiste also chided him for

135 Review of O dolce concento de Mozart (Jan. 1834), arrangement of op. 16 from Herz frères. “Cependant nous voudrions que H. Herz combattît ses ennemies avec de meilleures armes, et nous sommes fâchés d’avoir encore à annoncer un morceau du même genre et trop faible pour lutter.” Le Pianiste an 1, 36 [sic] (60). 136 “Et d’abord, félicitons H. Herz d’avoir fait une infidélité aux airs variés[...]” Le Pianiste an 2, 65. 137 “[...] nous espérons qu’H. Herz ne s’arrêtera pas en si beau chemin. — Qu’il ne s’effraie pas, surtout, car ses habitués vont jeter les hauts cris, ne retrouvant pas leurs sauts périlleux et la coda usitée.” Le Pianiste an 2, 65. 138 Variations brillantes d’une coupe nouvelle sur la cavatine favorite “Vivi tu” d’Anna Bolena [Donizetti] op. 78. Le Pianiste an 2, 73. 139 “Un mécanisme toujours clair, une grande légèreté en font de la base.” Le Pianiste an 1, 183. 140 “Le bénéficiaire a dignement soutenue sa réputation [against the invectives in the Gazette], et son exécution a été irréprochable.” Le Pianiste an 1, 94. 185

“an abuse of ornaments” and urged him to brave a change of style.141 Le Pianiste noted, “but this style [of ornaments employed by Herz] is so little musical, that we would like that after having popularized them at first, that he would be the first to sacrifice them. It’s a glitz that his talent doesn’t require, and his true friends, we have no doubt, would praise their abandonment and leave them to die under the fingers of his pale imitators.”142 Le Pianiste deftly differentiated between his talent, which was perfect, and his style, which could (and should) change.

On the other hand, Lemoine and Chaulieu pointed out that Herz’s playing had a special quality that caused any discontent to fade upon hearing it. For example, after urging him to renounce variations, the journal wrote, “nevertheless, we say that he makes them [variations] so well and he plays them so admirably, that we don’t know who would dare oppose him.”143And regarding the ornamentation the authors wished he would stop playing, they wrote, “if we are inclined to blame the abuse of the glissando and the tours d’adresse, then it’s not when we hear it, because it is impossible to make a better excuse for them.”144

Le Pianiste also conceded that Herz was paid handsomely to produce works that would be popular, expressing frustration that the monetary system created a market bloated with popular works. The journal wrote scathingly, “a writer who gets paid horribly well to remain in the public taste, he was obliged to return to these grand and stupid Bravura variations, as you

141 “[...] l’abus des ornemens.” Ibid. 142 “Mais ce genre est si peu musical, que nous voudrions qu’après l’avoir popularisé le premier, il fût aussi le premier à en faire le sacrifice. C’est un clinquant dont son talent n’a pas besoin, et ses vrais amis, nous n’en doutons point, le loueraient de l’abandonner et de le laisser mourir sous les doigts de ses pâles imitateurs.” Ibid. 143 “Néanmoins, nous dirons qu’il les fait si bien et les joue si admirablement, que nous ne savons pas qui on oserait lui opposer.” Le Pianiste an 2, 73. 144 “Si nous sommes tentés de blâmer l’abus qu’il fait des glissando et des tours d’adresse, ce n’est pas quand nous l’entendons, car il est impossible de les faire mieux excuser.” Le Pianiste an 1, 94. 186 know.”145 Le Pianiste also blamed the public for failing to demand more serious works: “It is truly deplorable that the public will only welcome pieces based on opera airs, and that the artists like Herz, Kalkbrenner, and some others cannot free themselves from this ridiculous yoke.”146

Le Pianiste summed these ambivalent feelings when it said that Herz was the best at the things he chose to do: “We add with conviction that after having established, once and for all, that in music, there are many genres of composition and execution, H. Herz is the first in those which he has adopted.”147 Herz’s mastery of variations redefined variation itself, and his playing defined a style. But Le Pianiste hoped that Herz would change his style and improve himself, as he had done previously. Whether Herz listened to Le Pianiste, or whether he was influenced by

Gazette’s campaign against him, he published fewer variations after 1835, but the reputation he built the 1820s, for better or for worse, lingered throughout his life.148

First encounters with the music of Schubert, Mendelssohn, and Schumann

The authors of Le Pianiste had never heard Schumann, Schubert, or Mendelssohn perform, and knew very little of their music. However, thanks to the efforts of one Parisian publisher, Richault, Frenchmen like Lemoine and Chaulieu were able to obtain some of this

German music in the mid-1830s, and Lemoine and Chaulieu’s first experiences with it can be found in Le Pianiste. Their reactions to these musicians are diverse, but nevertheless the

145 “[...] un écrivain qui se fait payer horriblement cher doit rester dans le goût du public, il fut obligé de reprendre ces grandes et sottes variations di Bravura que vous savez.” Le Pianiste an 2, 73. 146 “Il est vraiment déplorable que le public ne veuille accueillir que les morceaux fabriqués sur des airs d’opéras, et que des artistes comme H. Herz, Kalkbrenner, et quelques autres ne puissent s’affranchir de ce joug ridicule.” Le Pianiste an 1, 91. 147 “Nous ajouterons avec conviction qu’après avoir établi, une fois pour toutes, qu’en musique il y a plusieurs genres de composition et d’exécution, H. Herz est le premier dans ceux qu’il a adoptés.” Le Pianiste an 1, 94. 148 See Schnapper, Henri Herz: magnat du piano, 270–280. 187 impressions speak to the manner in which reputation travelled faster than goods. Many of the reviews defer to an image the authors had in their minds: either they are disappointed that the music did not live up to their expectations, or they withhold complete judgement because they assume the piece in front of them is not representative of a given talent. Le Pianiste reviewed just a handful of Schubert’s works, and just one each of Schumann and Mendelssohn (Schumann’s op. 5 Impromptus and Mendelssohn’s op. 30 Songs without Words).

While Schubert had passed away in 1828, France was only beginning to have access to his music around 1834. Tracing Le Pianiste’s evolving understanding and descriptions of

Schubert’s music sheds light on his emerging French reception at this time. An April 1834 review of Variations on a French song (for piano four hands, op. 10; D 624) admitted that the editors had only known one Schubert piece before it, the E-flatPiano Trio (op. 100; D 929).149 Neither the variations nor the piano trio appealed to Le Pianiste, but the authors trusted that Schubert was talented: “We are told that Schubert is the author of admired songs in Germany; we accept this assurance without guarantee, because we know only two works by this author.”150 Le Pianiste was disappointed that the French publisher of the variations had chosen it for “speculation” because “if [...] Schubert aimed for originality, he unfortunately met the bizarre in his path.”151

One part the journal found indelicate was the beginning of the third variation, when the harmony of the prima part plays in C major but the seconda part enters with B-flat and D-flat(See

Example 4.6).152

149 Le Pianiste an 1, 90. 150 “On nous dit que Schubert est auteur de mélodies admirées en Allemagne; nous en acceptons l’assurance sans garantir, car nous ne connaissons de cet auteur que deux ouvrages.” Le Pianiste an 1, 90. 151 “Si dans ce thème varié, Schubert, visait à l’originalité, il a malheureusement rencontré le bizarre en son chemin.” Ibid. 152 These are probably meant to be dominant extensions. 188

The journal encouraged the publisher to create a collection of Schubert’s work so that he might be better understood in Paris.153

About 10 months later, on 20 Jan 1835, Le Pianiste wrote that Schubert’s music remained little known in France except for a group of “zealous amateurs” who worked to popularize it.154

The journal thanked these devotees for their efforts to bring Schubert’s music to Paris, because the authors believed that “this is how our musical taste will develop and stimulate itself, mainly by emulation and imitation.”155 Responding to this interest, the journal promised to review as much of Schubert’s music as it could, so that its readers could familiarize themselves with it.

However, this was only possible when a lack of new French music permitted space in Le

Pianiste’s columns.156 Schubert’s three Marches héroïques (op. 27; D 602) did not elicit much interest in Le Pianiste, but his op. 121 two Marches caractéristiques (D 968b) impressed and

153 Le Pianiste an 1, 90. The publisher was Richault, who also was importing Czerny’s music to Le Pianiste’s chagrin. 154 “[...] amateurs zélés.” Le Pianiste an 2, 49. Amateurs is used in Le Pianiste to mean both dilettantes and lovers of music, and it is unclear which it means here. 155 “[...] c’est ainsi que notre goût musical se développera et se stimulera surtout par l’émulation et l’imitation.” Ibid. 156 Ibid. 189 intrigued the journal, especially for the originality of the works.157 The journal wrote of the latter,

“We only have praise to give. Quick pace, prominent ideas, graceful trios, everything is good.

And remarkably, while these two marches are in C, the two trios are in A minor, and both in 6/8 time, no similarity, no monotony can be felt when playing one after the other. This work will figure strongly next to the marches of Beethoven and Moscheles.”158

Some months later, Lemoine and Chaulieu encountered what was, for them, the best work by Schubert so far: the first set of his op. 90 Impromptus (D 899; the four impromptus were split into two books).159 Overall Le Pianiste felt that the style of these pieces was palpably

“different” from other music. While the second impromptu in E-flat major was “quick and light,

[...] more likely to please in the salon [than the first],” it was the first impromptu in C minor that interested Lemoine and Chaulieu more.160 The first impromptu was more in the spirit of an impromptu than the second, as it was “interspersed with choruses in the form of ritornellos” and had many “charming modulations.”161 Lemoine and Chaulieu understood the plaintive melody to be “of the style that they sing in the north,” and the “melancholic tone” of the piece was thought to be “specifically designed for pianists who like intimate music.”162 Melancholy was a common

157 Ibid. 158 “Nous n’avons que des éloges à donner. Allure vive, idées saillantes, trios gracieux, tout en est bien. Et, chose remarquable, ces deux marches sont en ut, les deux trios en la mineur, la mesure à six-huit, et aucune similitude, aucune monotonie ne se fait sentir en les jouant à la suite l’une de l’autre. Cet ouvrage figurera fort bien à côté des marches de Beethoven et de celles de Mochelès.” Ibid. 159 Le Pianiste an 2, 81. 160 “[...] l’autre, vif, léger, brillant même, est plus susceptible de plaire au salon.” Ibid. 161 “[...] entre-mêlée de chœurs en forme de ritournelles, de modulations charmantes [...]” Ibid. 162 “[...] se compose d’une mélodie dans le genre de celles qu’on chante dans le nord[...]”; “[...] une teinte mélancolique qui s’étend sur tout le morceau, l’adresse particulièrement aux pianistes qui aiment la musique d’intimité.” Ibid. 190 word in Le Pianiste’s reviews of Schubert; the journal summarized that, based on the knowledge of these pieces, all of Schubert’s music was written in the “melancholic style.”163

The only work of Mendelssohn that Le Pianiste reviewed was his op. 30 Songs Without

Words.164 Le Pianiste was impressed with this work and believed it to be serious contribution to the nocturne genre. While the author of this review gave credit to John Field for inventing the nocturne, he thought that Mendelssohn’s Lieder ohne Worte surpassed Field’s Romances sans paroles: “Field is, I believe, the inventor of this genre which has a lot of affinity with the nocturne. But, in these short compositions, Mendelssohn leaves Field far behind [...].”165

Particularly impressive were the “richness of harmony” and the “suavity of ideas,” which were

“elevated to the highest degree.”166 The article gushed with praise: the first, third, and sixth songs were “models of singing melody,” the second was a model of “originality,” and the fourth was notable for its “totally dramatic warmth.”167 The journal believed that the piece shared kinship with some of Le Pianiste’s favorite music: Chopin’s mazurkas, Hiller’s reveries, and the nocturnes of Joseph Kessler.168

Le Pianiste’s first encounter with Schumman’s music, however, did not leave such a favorable impression. In one of its most humorous reviews, the journal concluded that

163 “[...] genre mélancolique.” Le Pianiste an 2, 49. 164 Le Pianiste an 2, 114. There is also a review of a work written jointly by Moscheles and Mendelssohn (Variations brillantes à 4 mains sur la marche Bohémienne de Weber dans Preciosa) but its main thrust is a rhetorical question: How can someone write a work with two people? Le Pianiste an 1, 88. 165 “Field est, je crois, l’inventeur de ce genre qui a beaucoup d’affinité avec le nocturne. Mais, dans ces courtes compositions, Mendelsohn [sic] laisse loin derrière lui Field.” Ibid. 166 “La suavité des idées, la richesse de l’harmonie sont ici élevées au plus haut degré [...]” Ibid. 167 “[...] modèles de chant parlant [...] originalité [...] chaleur toute dramatique[...]” Ibid. 168 Le Pianiste an 2, 114. Chopin, Mazurkas, opp. 6, 7, and 17 [Le Pianiste would have only known of these in 1835] ; Joseph Kessler, Nocturnes, op. 27, 28, 29 (cited Le Pianiste an 1, 124–125); Hiller, Rêveries op. 17 (1835) (cited Le Pianiste an 2, 89–90). 191

Schumann’s op. 5 Impromptu was “destined to procure either a migraine or sleep.”169 But despite the ridicule the work received, something about it piqued some curiosity in Lemoine and

Chaulieu. They not only gave a detailed and careful analysis of it, but they also claimed they would be paying special attention to future Schumann works.170

The biggest issue for Le Pianiste, was that the op. 5 Impromptus contained overly wrought non-idiomatic pianistic writing. The journal pointed out one instance where it was physically impossible to play what was written, asking one hand to play a two octave spread

(Example 4.7). In another case, the melodic lines crossed in a confusing way: the left hand bass rose and became an alto line in between what was formerly a soprano and alto line (Example

4.8). The latter example could have been avoided with improved engraving, though the voice crossing would have been less apparent. The former, the two octave spread, cannot be achieved as written, and the attacks must be staggered or rolled. Schumann revised this piece extensively, and published a second version in 1850. Le Pianiste’s examples of problematic areas were not repeated in the second version.171

169 “Somme toute, ce morceau nous semble destiné à procurer la migraine ou le sommeil.” Le Pianiste an 1, 89. 170 When Le Pianiste opened, Lemoine and Chaulieu apparently did not know Schumann at all, as he does not figure into their list of pianists divided by generations. 171 Robert Schumann, Impromptus op. 5 [first version, 1833] (Leipzig: Breitkopf und Härtel, 1885), and Robert Schumann, Impromptus op. 5 [second version, 1850] (Leipzig: Breitkopf und Härtel, 1885). 192

Example 4.7: Schumann op. 5 Impromptus, version 1 (1833), mm. 17–20 (Leipzig: Breitkopf und Härtel, 1885). Two octave spread.

Example 4.8: Schumann op. 5 Impromptus, version 1 (1833), fourth impromptu, mm 9–10 (Leipzig: Breitkopf und Härtel, 1885). Confusing voice crossing.

These oddities led Le Pianiste to muse that the piece was written for the mythical

Patagonian people, who were giants with nearly three pairs of feet. The journal joked that

Schumann’s piece proved the existence of such people: “It is now proven that in this small country the little women have five and a half feet (pieds), and that’s quite reasonable; it’s probably for these Patagonian ladies that Schumann composed this impromptu; gigantic in every way.”172

For Le Pianiste, these difficulties would have been excusable if they had elicited any interesting new textures, ideas, or emotions. However, despite the attempts to create something

172 “[...] il est avéré maintenant que dans ce pays les petites femmes ont cinq pieds et demi, ce qui est fort raisonnable; c’est probablement pour les demoiselles patagonaises que Schumann a composé cet impromptu, gigantesque en tous points.” Le Pianiste an 1, 89. 193 new, Le Pianiste felt that Schumann had only created something flashy that lacked substance.

The journal wrote, “we hasten to say that this impromptu is perfectly written, that it boasts a lot of scientific learning, and that finally it offers the solution for the difficulty of using the grandest methods to produce the smallest effects.”173

Nevertheless, the journal commented on all twelve impromptus in the set, and provided excerpts of many of them in the supplement. Not all parts were bad: Le Pianiste noted an excellent and new type of modulation in the eighth impromptu (Example 4.9) (E major, B major,

E minor, C major), and said the seventh impromptu was “difficult and made a good effect.”174 On the other hand, the sixth impromptu had a “bizarre timbre and no variety” (Example 4.10) and the tenth was a “crossed hands variation of little effect.”175 The fifth was called “in the style of a sleeping draught.”176

Example 4.9: Schumann op. 5 Impromptus version 1 (1833), eighth impromptu, mm. 12–13 (Leipzig: Breitkopf und Härtel, 1885). “New and agreeable modulation,” (Le Pianiste an 1, 89).

173 “Nous nous empressons de dire que cet impromptu est parfaitement écrit, qu’il annonce beaucoup de science, et qu’enfin il offre la solution d’une difficulté qui consiste à employer les plus grands moyens pour produire les plus petits effets.” Ibid. 174 No. 7: “[...] difficile et d’un bon effet.” Le Pianiste an 1, 89. 175 No. 6: “[...] timbre bizarre et sans variété.” No. 10: “Variation en croisée de peu d’effet.” Ibid. 176 “[...] dans le style somnifère.” Ibid. 194

Example 4.10: Schumann op. 5 Impromptus version 1 (1833), sixth impromptu, m.1 (Leipzig: Breitkopf und Härtel, 1885). “Bizarre timbre with no variety,” (Le Pianiste an 1, 89).

Le Pianiste concluded that it hoped Schumann had no disciples, because works like this would lead to bad taste.177 On the other hand, Lemoine and Chaulieu were clearly interested in this piece and were willing to examine all the parts and explain them to their readers, and they refrained from judging Schumann wholly until they became more familiar with his works. As they had with Schubert, they pleaded with the publisher Richault to publish more works by

Schumann.178

Conclusion

For Lemoine and Chaulieu, the music of the Romantic generation was not a radical departure from earlier styles, but was entirely congruous with that of the “fathers of piano.” In some cases this new music — Chopin’s especially and some of Hiller’s — seemed to hearken back to Dussek and reinvigorate a fading legacy. The fact that Lemoine and Chaulieu found something familiar in the music of Chopin should give pause: where does this situate the music that young Parisians were dismissing as perruque in the 1830s? And why had the music of

Lemoine and Chaulieu’s youth become unpopular if it was reminiscent of contemporary music?

177 Ibid. 178 Ibid. 195

Le Pianiste believed, at least, that ignorance and the plague of virtuosity that immediately followed the music of the “fathers of piano” had unfairly damaged their reputations and led to a misunderstanding of their music.

Le Pianiste’s reviews of the music of the quatrième époque also shows what Lemoine and Chaulieu meant by their promise to make Le Pianiste a “journal of progress.” This was not only a declaration of interest in new music generally, but specifically refers to a desire to help usher and aid music to move beyond the style of tours d’adresse that was so popular in the

1820s. The reviews of the newest music from the youngest musicians reveal that any music that seemed to be curative or provide new and original paths away from repetitive displays was especially welcome.

Lemoine and Chaulieu’s descriptions about how they heard and understood German music also provides a glimpse into French taste that has often been overlooked, or worse, scorned. For Lemoine and Chaulieu, German music was often too thick, too harmonically fraught, and too structurally complex. But, on the other hand, Le Pianiste decried that French music was trending toward the harmonically simplistic. It seems that a French aesthetic, at least as expressed by Lemoine and Chaulieu, prized air and space in works, preferred difficult or unusual parts to occur at slower rates in a work, to allow the subverted expectations to be relished. In addition, the reviews of Hiller suggest some differences between German and French performance practice that have yet to be explored. Hiller needed to “warm” his playing with ornaments and commune with the audience more to be better appreciated in Paris.

Thus far I have avoided an attempt to summarize Le Pianiste’s aesthetic stance, because the categories and limits that modern scholars have created do not seem to hold up here. But at 196 the end of this work, a few words seem necessary. Contradictions appear to abound in the journal, but this says more about our sense of the French past than it does about Le Pianiste.

Despite Le Pianiste’s interest in the past, it was not conservative nor suspicious of new music.

Despite Le Pianiste’s interest in the salon, it was not exclusively amateur. And despite the fact that Lemoine and Chaulieu often wrote music that was light and ephemeral, Chaulieu, at least, decried that he was forced into it by the pressures of the publishing market. The best term for Le

Pianiste might be juste milieu, but this term suggests a dull equivalency, that everything was acceptable for Le Pianiste, and that is not the case. The journal denounced music that was mechanical and imitative, and worked to promote music that was ambitious, educated, and original. It decried fading standards and quick fixes. Le Pianiste was interested in intimacy, wit, intelligence, and impassioned feeling in music.

Le Pianiste was written by just two men, but the journal’s popularity, the evidence of its professional readership, and Lemoine and Chaulieu’s integrated position in French musical life suggest that the journal resonated with a large segment of the population in Paris. Further, the journal’s pithy descriptions and portrayals provide a vivid picture of French musical life that has too long been ignored. Lemoine and Chaulieu’s writing is a powerful advocate for a French tradition that has faded if not disappeared from the historical imagination, and it is a testament to the quality of that writing that it seems to necessitate further inquiry into the rich world that it portrays. 197

APPENDIX 1 Concert reviews in Le Pianiste

November 1833

22 November (Saint-Cecile day) Saint-Vincent-de-Paul Alkan, Urhan, Vaslin playing Beethoven piano trio (possibly op. 56 triple concerto) other orchestral works, Habeneck conducts (p. 26)

24 November distribution of Prizes at Conservatoire Mlle Pascal and M. Prudent, age 16, played a duet on 2 pianos by Czerny (p. 26)

26 November Athénée musicale Kalkbrenner played twice

December 1833 matinees Colbert, led by the frères Tilmant, n.d. Mlle Mazel played Schubert trio (pp. 41–42)

12 December chez Pape, Cramer concert concerto in D minor divertissement with variations études (first book) (p. 40)

15 December 2pm, Menus-Plaisirs first half 1. Alla Marcia and final from Hiller’s first symphony 2. Mozart Concerto in C minor, played by Hiller (probably no. 24 K. 491) 3. Air de Mercadente, sung by Mlle. Pixis (Mlle. Pixis debut) 4. Second Symphony by Hiller, premier

second half 1. Allegro de concerto for 3 pianos of J.S. Bach, played by Chopin, Liszt, and Hiller 2. Cello solo, by Franchomme 3. Romance allemande and romance italienne, with orchestral accompaniment, sung by Mlle. Pixis 4. Duet for two pianos, composed by Hiller, played by Hiller and Liszt Habeneck, conductor (pp. 25–26 announcement with program, review p. 42-43)

22 December frères Tilmant performance Alkan played trio of Weber (p. 43) 198

soirée of Mlle. Cheronnet (possibly 22 dec) played variations (p. 43) private salon, n.d. Kalkbrenner and Mad. Pleyel played new Kalkbrenner works Kalkbrenner played op. 120, Variations on Mazurka of Chopin Grand duet on 2 pianos played by Kalkbrenner and Mme. Pleyel (p. 43)

23 December Petzol Salon soiree of M. Miró, spanish pianist played Bertini polonaise variations for four hands in A child Lefébure played an instrument called the Polyphône (pp. 43-44)

29 December Dejazet, piano, Bessems, violin, Servais, cello Dejazet played 4 times (theme of his own, duet on Oberon [Weber].) (p. 39–40 page error)

January 1834

12 January meeting of the Société libre des Beaux Arts Mlle Millin, new Conservatoire laureat played Czerny, played pitifully (p. 40 page error)

19 January matinee in petite salle of Conservatoire two violinists, Alard and Leudet Kalkbrenner played op. 120 (Variations on a Mazurka of Chopin) (p. 40 page error)

February 1834

Alkan concert, Feb, at Zimmerman soirée played his own composition (concerto performed with string quartet instead of orchestra) (p. 80)

25 February Sowinsky concert replaced by Schunke, Liszt, Chopin (p. 80) 199

March 1834

5 March concert given by Madame G. Ducrest M. Rhein, pianist, played variations on cavatina of Cenerentola (p. 92)

7 March concert of violinist Haumann Liszt played Hummel septet Le Pianiste did not attend (p. 95)

18 March concert of M. Stocking, in the salons of M. Seyrig, rue Neuve-des-Petits-Pères Stocking is a singer Seyrig is a piano manufacturer Gebauer played bassoon Hubert played cello Savart played piano (p. 92)

21 March, Concert of Osborne, given in salons Pleyel Liszt played, arrived late Osborne played unpublished variations and quintet Osborne quartet performed, for 2 violins, viola, and bass Variations by Deberiot and Osborne performed by Tilmant and Osborne. (pp. 92–94) orig. scheduled for 16 March, p. 80

22 March H. Herz concert Herz performed his own concerto duet for two pianos, variations, performed by Herz and Jacques Herz Herz played new unpublished variations on Pré aux Clercs [Hérold] (pp. 94–95)

Zimmerman soirée, n.d. Laurent Batta, 14-year old from Brussels and student of Michelot, performed Batta played H. Herz variations on march of Othello (pp. 95–96)

April 1834

12 April, Schunke concert Schunke played three times played Hummel concerto in B minor air variee of Schunke’s on Zelmira duo of mélange of airs of Rossini, played with Liszt (pp. 110–111)

12 April, Panseron concert Mlle Mazel played square piano of Petzol brand, (p. 111) 200

20 April, Conservatoire concert 5th symphony of Beethoven Kalkbrenner played Kalkbrenner concerto in A-flat (pp. 111–112)

May none

June none

July none

August 1834 n.d. notice of Mlle Blahetka concert in Boulogne-sur-Mer Blahetka played her own composition, Recollection of England (p. 176)

September 1834 none

October 1834

11 October concert and ball in Ranelagh Mme H. and Mme Degli-Antoni performed Mlle Mazel played Herz variations on Siege de Corinthe (an 2, p. 5) no date: rotunde de Musard Berlioz overture was heard (an 2, p. 5-6)

November 1834

5 November Stoepel concert for inondés de Saint-Etienne (an 2, p. 16)

9 November Berlioz concert played Symphonie fantastique Mme. Willan-Bordogni sang an aria from Dona del Lago [Rossini] M. Panofka played a set of variations on the violin M. Girard conducted (an 2, pp. 15–16) 201

22 November concert at Saint-Vincent-de-Paul, noon, cancelled it was advertised that Liszt was going to play Beethoven op. 47 (Kreutzer Sonata) with Urhan but they did not play at all (p. 21) *Geraldine Keeling notes in “Liszt’s Appearances in Parisian Concerts” that this was rescheduled for 24 Nov. No further mention in Le Pianiste.

23 November Berlioz concert played Harold en Italie (p. 22)

25 November Théâtre-italien premier of Ernani by Gambussi (p. 19)

30 November salle des concerts de l’hotel Lafitte concert of M and Mme. Willan-Bordogni announced for 20 and 25 November M. Willan played bassoon Bordogni’s daughter sang first movement of Beethoven Symphony no. 6 performed (p. 15 announcement, p. 23 review) n.d. review of opera-comique, Le Marchand forain musique de M. Marliani (pp. 11–12)

December 1834

1 December Opéra-comique, La Sentinelle perdu, musique de M. Rifaut (p. 23 & p. 29)

7 December Berlioz concert Chopin played andante of concerto (announcement p. 24, review p. 32)

12 December review of singer Mad. Damoreau in Serment (p. 32)

13 December Mlle Brambilla debut at Théâtre-Italien (singer) (p. 32)

28 December 4th Berlioz concert Liszt played with his student, Mlle Vial, a duet for 2 pianos Symphonie fantastique aria sung by Mme. Degli-Antoni (p. 42) n.d. reprise of Grétry’s Zemire et Azor (borrowed review by Ed. Monnais) (p. 36-37) n.d. Concert of M. Ernst, violin, salons de la rue Monsigny Charles Schunke played with Ernst, duet on themes from Pré aux Clercs [Hérold] Charles Schunke played his Invitation à la walse (p. 38) 202

n.d. private concert at Hiller’s with Hiller and Chopin (p. 41) n.d. Review of La Juive [Halévy] (p. 29)

January 1835

4 January concert at the newly-formed Société musicale Bertini played 3rd sextet Italian duet of Meyerbeer, sung by Mmd. Rainbault and M. Géraldi M. Brod played oboe piece Géraldi sang Le Moine by Meyerbeer M. Labarre played harp Mme. Raimbault sang cavatina by Rossini

Second concert of same: H. Herz played his second concerto Brod, Villent, Alard performed (pp. 47–48)

Saturday before 20 January, mention of opera-comiques (p. 50)

20 Jan rumor of a concert of Monpou at salons Lafitte. No follow-up (p. 50) (pp. 54–55) Overture to Robert ballade de Lénore

25 January M. Sudre concert at Conservatoire Sudre invented La Langue musicale, which was a language system for the deaf (pp. 55–56)

25 January 3rd concert of Société musicale Mlle. A. Lambert sang Bertini sextet was performed Theo. Labarre played harp sonata Alard played violin Géraldi played Mozart aria (pp. 56–57)

25 January M. Tilmant matinée de at salon de Pape quintetto of M. Rousselot Alkan played in Spohr quartet Beethoven string quartet op. 130 played by Tilmant, Claudel, Urhan, and Tilmant jeune; (p. 56)

203

25 January concert at Mlle Berlot’s (not reviewed because no tickets were given) (p. 55)

25 January private soirée at Pleyel Kalkbrenner played piano duet with Mme. Pleyel (p. 55) also played la Rêve de Kalkbrenner [?]

31 January Baillot & Hiller concert (p. 50 announcement, p. 58 review) n.d. Schunke and Ernst in Versailles (p. 58)

February 1835

3 February concert of M. Bressler new piano laureat played variations on cavatina on Barbier de Seville [Rossini] by Pixis (p. 65)

7 February Baillot concert at M. Alerme’s house, 15 rue Taitbout J.S. Bach sonata Mozart quartet in G minor Haydn sonata in C Haydn sonata in A Baillot and Hiller play Bach Beethoven op. 47 Kreutzer sonata; Hiller & Baillot (p. 50 announcement, p. 64 review)

8 February concert of M. Tilmant at salon de Pape (p. 56 announcement only, no review)

8 February Société Libre des Beaux-Arts public concert violiniste Fontaine played overture Mad. Vogel played concerto in a minor of Hummel Bessems (belgian violinist) played a fantasy overture de Robin des Bois [Castil-Blaze - Weber] by orchestra (pp. 64–65)

21 February concert for poor of Vaugirard Benedictus, solo with choir, by Fontaine Violin solo written and performed by Fontaine Sapho Cantata by Chaulieu, sung by Mme. Deligny Sextet by Chaulieu, performed by Chaulieu, Fontaine, Vandenberge, Nicole, Benazet, Delacour, and Pollet (for piano, 2 violins, viola, cello, and bass) Guitar solo written and performed by Coste song by Mme. Deligny Fantasie for cello written and performed by Benazet 204

Choruses of Mozart and Rossini cost: 6F for men, 3F for women ball afterward, all night (p. 66 & 68)

22 February M. Hiller concert at Erard salons Hiller played his new piano trio, perf. by Hiller, Baillot, Franchomme unnamed string quartet (perhaps by Hiller?) piano duet played by Hiller and Chopin Dorus Gras sang Hiller played Reveries and Études (pp. 68–69)

23 February La Juive premiere (p. 69–70 & 84–85) n.d. Société musicale 4th concert Herz played his op. 76, variations on Pré aux Clercs [Hérold] Hummel septet played with wind instruments Theo. Labarre harp sonata M. Chevillard on cello Mlle. Lambert and M. Géraldi sang (p. 64) n.d. Société musicale 5th concert Géraldi sang Mozart duo de l’Agnese with Mlle Leroy and M. Géraldi Chevillard Brod played his oboe fantasy Bertini played piano Gallay in horn quartet Bertini 2nd septet in E-flat (p. 69) n.d. M. and Mme. Paltoni Osborne played new air varié Ernst played “morceau à tours d’adresse” Obsorne and Ernst in a duo in A minor Paltonis sang duet of Barbier de Seville (p. 64) n.d. Opéra-Comique La Marquise by A. Adam. (p. 70) 205

March 1835

6 March M. Lanza concert at Hôtel-de-Ville Boulanger, Rondonneau, Schunke, Ernst, Mme. Degli-Antoni, Marinoni cost: 5F (p. 73 announcement)

9 March Soiree musicale of M. Ghys Ghys violinist Schunke played variations on galop de la Tentation Mme. Leroy singer Mme. Boulanger singer Mlle. Alkan singer (pp. 80–81)

10 March Concert at Hôtel-de-Ville by former Choron school organized by M. de Bligny Baillot and Hiller played Beethoven op. 47 (p. 81)

15 March M. Stamaty soirée at Pleyel salons Stamaty debut played his own concerto played air varié on di tanti palpiti by Kalkbrenner (p. 81) n.d. 4th M. Tilmant matinee Beethoven op. 47 Beethoven trio op. 97 Mlle Mazel piano and Tilmant, violin (p. 80) n.d. Socété musicale 6th concert M. Mazas viola solo M. Lanza singer A. Lambert singer Mlle Nau singer Labarre harp, played his Bolero H. Lambert and Herz played duet on Philtre for 2 pianos by Herz Brod on oboe Alard on violin H. Lambert played concerto of Moscheles trio for harp, oboe, violin M. Lanza, aria of della Somnabula Mlle. Nau, also aria of della Somnabula Mlle. A. Lambert and Mlle. Nau saung italian duet (p. 80) 206

April 1835

2 April Panseron concert Schunke and Ernst played M. Sudre explained his method for deaf people at intermission (p. 94)

3 April Mlles Lambert concert at salle Chantereine A. Lambert sang aria of Freyschutz, romance from La Négresse H. Lambert played piano 3rd sextet of Bertini with H. Lambert piano duet of Hiller with H. Lambert Chopin Cidarem perf. by H. Lambert Labarre and Géraldy played (p. 94)

5 April Société musicale 8th concert Bertini and Herz played Herz played variations on Vivi tu Bertini played caprices (p. 94-95)

7 April Osborne concet Osborne on piano piano trio variations on theme of Auber duet with violin written and performed by Osborne with Batta on violin (announcement p. 90, review pp. 93–94)

9 April Liszt concert to benefit a family at Hôtel-de-Ville 1st symphony of Hiller performed Clapisson, singer vocal quartet of Clapisson M. Massart, violin Liszt performed Fantasie symphonique and fainted orchestra conducted by Girard adagio of Beethoven arranged for orchestra by Girard scherzo with Liszt (p. 95) n.d. 5th and 6th concert at Conservatoire Franchomme played at 5th Baillot at 6th, played Beethoven romance and andante of his own (p. 93) 207

May 1835

23 May Gymnase musicale Orchestra conducted by Tilmant played overtures Maometto and Euryanthe Liszt played Weber Batta, cello Bley, violin symphony of Spohr (p. 121) n.d. public concert of Société académique des enfans d’Apollon Damoreau, Ponchard, Alexis Dupont, Levasseur; Alkan, Urhan, Tribert, Jacquemin orchestra played overtures from Dame Blanche and William Tell, under direction of Launer (who is also publisher) (p. 121)

June 1835 n.d. Gymnase musicale Mme. Farrenc played Hummel concerto in a minor mvmts from Beethoven symphony in C (1st? 5th?) scherzo and andante (p. 129) n.d. Musard concerts at Champs-elysées (p. 129)

July 1835 n.d. Gymnase musicale Symphony of M. Rousselet (pp. 143–144)

Thursday before 5 August 1835 Musard conducted portion of Handel’s Messiah (p. 154) n.d. opera Deux Reines by Monpou (p. 162)

August 1835

29 August Gymnase musicale Beethoven Symphony no. 3 Tilmant conducts Rossini duet performed by clarinet, bassoon, with piano accompaniment Mlle. Grange played piano (p. 168–69) n.d. announcement for reprise of Zampa [Hérold] (p. 176) 208 n.d. Gymnase musicale concert for Bellini’s death Il Pirata overture Mlle. Lenormand played piano, Kalkbrenner’s Frère Jacques Berlioz Symphonie fantastique Beethoven c minor funeral march? Goria played Herz variations (11 or 12 year old child) (p. 186)

September 1835 none

October 1835

12 October Mme. Anderson concert, piano, at salons of Pape pianist of the English queen rondo by Hummel Beethoven concerto Baillot played Mozart quartet Baillot conducted (p. 194) n.d. Gymnase musicale Huber, cello (p. 193)

209

APPENDIX 2 Charles Chaulieu Works by Opus op. Title and page count Publisher Dedication (if any) Cost

1 Deux grandes sonates, 50 pages Paris: Seiber déd à Louis Adam, 7F professeur au Conservatoire royal de musique, par Charles Chaulieu, professeur

2 Air allemand varié pour le fortepiano avec Paris: Frey, 1818 introduction et finale, 17 pages

3 4 Airs variés Paris: Lemoine Henry Lemoine 7F50

5 Nocturne concertant pour piano et violin ou flûte Paris: Lemoine 5F ou vcello

6 Rondo pour le pianoforte “En vérité c’est Paris: Lemoine, 3F60 désolant” [from Le premier venu by Hérold] 1819

7 Di tanti palpiti, cavatine de l'opéra de Tancrède Paris: Lemoine 3F [Rossini], arrangé pour le pianoforte, 5 pages

8 Sul margine d’un rio, varié pour le piano Paris: Lemoine 3F60

9 24 Petits préludes dans tous les tons Paris: Lemoine 5F

10 Variations sur “Au Clair de la lune”, 8 pages Paris: Lemoine Mlle Lydie de Plaraise 3F60

11 Grande sonate pour piano en fa à Hérold 6F

12 Le Songe, impromptu, pour le fortepiano, 7 Paris: Lemoine fait à l’occasion de la 3F pages naissance de S.A.R. monseigneur le Duc de Bordeaux

13 Sonate (agevole e brillante) pour le pianoforte Paris: Lemoine, 4F50 1821

14 Variations faciles sur l’air favori de l’opera Don Paris: Lemoine; 3F Juan “Fin, ch’han dal vino” [Mozart, Don London: Cramer & Giovanni] Beale, Co., 1821

15 Grand sonata for piano and violin obligée, note Paris: Lemoine composée et dédiée à 7F50 on page 2: “gravé par Melle. A. Moreau” M. le Baron de Latour du Pin

16 Capriccio on Mystères d’Isis [Mozart], 9 pages Paris: Lemoine; 4F50 London: Mori & Larenu, 1821

17 Sonate pour le forte piano en si bémol, 19 pages Paris: Lemoine composée et dédiée à 6F Mme Adèle Rollet

18 C’est l’amour, ronde variée pour le fortepiano Paris: Pacini 210

op. Title and page count Publisher Dedication (if any) Cost

19 Fantaisie pastorale pour le piano, 12 pages Paris: Lemoine à Mme Adam 5F

20 Fantaisie martiale pour le piano, 13 pages Paris: Lemoine, à Anson 5F 1822

21 “Me voila!” thème de La Clochette d’Hérold, air Paris, Lemoine; ded à Mme. Eliza 4F50 variée pour le piano, 11 pages London: Cramer, Dehys Addison & Beale

22 Trois Menuets et un Toccata pour le piano, 27 Paris: Lemoine à Henry Lemoine 6F pages

23 La musette de Nina, variée (presumed lost) Paris: Lemoine 4F50

24 Six mélodies françaises, variées 1. Qui ne suis-je Paris: Lemoine; 3F la fougère 2. Le troubadour béarnais 3. Ma mie London: Cramer, each 4. Triste raison 5. La Fête des bonnes gens 6. Addison, and Beale Lison dormait

25 Air russe, varié (presumed lost) Paris: Lemoine à Mme Rouillé 4F50

26 Guardami un poco, air varié pour le piano, avec Paris: Dufaut et 5F introduction et finale, 10 pages Dubois, 1823

27 Rondo brillant sur un thème des Troqueurs Paris: Lemoine 6F d’Hérold (presumed lost)

28 Grand Sonate en fa mineur/ Amante disperato Paris: Lemoine à Mme Rouillé 7F50

29 Variations brillantes, on the song “Grenadier que Paris: Dufaut et tu m’affliges” Dubois; London: alt: “Variations sur le Départ du grenadier” Cramer & Beale, Co

30 Ma nacelle! caprice Paris: Lemoine; Sur une romance 5F London: Cramer & composée et dediée à Beale, Co Mademoiselle Augustine Rollet [de Dupoty]

31 Variations sur le Troubadour béarnais (presumed Paris: Lemoine 4F50 lost)

32 Variations sur “Le Roi Dagobert” (presumed lost) Paris: Lemoine 4F50

33 Grand Trio for piano, violin et violoncelle Paris: Lemoine, 9F 1824?

34 Rondo brillant (presumed lost) Paris: Lemoine 5F

35 Sérénade concertant pour le piano et violin ou Paris: Lemoine violoncelle/ idem. pour piano et basson ou flûte ou hautbois

36 “Les Souvenirs” caprice (presumed lost) Paris: Lemoine 6F 211

op. Title and page count Publisher Dedication (if any) Cost

37 Badinage sur un air connu Paris: Lemoine; 5F London: Cramer & Beale, Co

38 Choeur de montagnards from Dame Blanche Paris: Janet, Cotelle [Boieldieu]

39 Fantaisie on “Les Deux mousquetaires”

40 Rondeau sur “Eh! Vogue ma nacelle” [Panseron] Paris: Le Boulch; Mlle Amélie Meslier 13 pages Milan: Ricordi, 1827

41 Rondo brillant pour le piano forte sur un air Paris: Meissonier; favori de l’opéra de Marie [Hérold] Milan: J. Ricordi

42 Variations sur les couplets “Tic Tac” de l’opéra Paris: Meissonier de Marie [Hérold], 15 pages

43 L’Espérance, Caprice sur une chanson de Bruguière: Oui j’en suis sûre, il m’aimera (presumed lost)

44 On dit qu’a quinze ans: chansonnette variée pour Milano: J. Ricordi le piano-forte avec introduction et finale, 13 pages

45 Fantasia on Siege of Corinthe [Rossini] London: J. Willis & alt: Souvenirs du Siège de Corinthe [Rossini], Co., 1827? fantaisie

46 Fantaisie brillante sur des motifs favoris de Paris: Pleyel, 1827 déd à Zimmerman Fiorella [Auber]

47 La Mélancolie, caprice pour le piano Paris: Meissonnier 5F

48 L'Elégant caprice brillant pour le piano Paris: Marchand de musique

50 6e fantaisie sur des motifs de Berton (presumed lost)

53 Les Bacchantes, rondo brillant (presumed lost) 6F

54 Variations on “La Galopade hongroise” du Ballet Paris: Lemoine; de la neige, 3 pages London: Purday

55 Caprice brillant sur des motifs du Colporteur Paris: Pleyel [Onslow]

57 Variations sur la marche de La Muette [de Miss Martha Tarrent Portici] [d’Auber] (presumed lost)

58 Variations on Tyrolienne de Made. Malibran London: D’Almaine or Cramer & Beale 212

op. Title and page count Publisher Dedication (if any) Cost

59 Rondoletta “Bien malin qui London: T. Welsh m’attrapera” [Panseron]

61 Variations faciles pour le piano sur l’air du Milan: J. Ricordi déd à Mlle Laurette Hussard de Felsheim [A. Adam], 9 pages Rouillé 9p

62 Rondo pastorale pour le piano Paris: Launer; composé et dédié à Milan: J. Ricordi Madame Dolly Jacqmin

63 Brillant Fantasia on Swiss airs Paris: Launer/Girod; London: Chappell

65 Rondoletto grazioso e brillante pour le piano London: Monro & forte May -or- Cramer & Beale

66 Fantaisie et variations sur des thèmes du Comte Mainz: Schott Ory [Rossini] (presumed lost)

69 La Parodie, Grand fantaisie pour p.f.

70 Rondo Polacca Paris: Pleyel; London: R. Cocks, 1828

71 Variations faciles sur l’air “Toi qui connais les Paris: ?; London: H. 4F50 hussards de la garde” Falkner

72 Rondo brillant pour le piano sur la ronde de La Milan: J. Ricordi déd à son ami Henri Violette [Carafa] Herz, pianist du roi

73 Variations faciles sur le Choeur des pages de La London: R. Cocks; Madame Zimmerman Violette [Carafa] London: J. Ricordi

74 Tyrolienne de La Fiancée [Auber] variée Leipzig: Breitkopf & (presumed lost) Härtel

75 Rondo scherzando sur un motif de La Fiancée Paris: Troupenas; [Auber] London: R. Cocks

76 Rondoletto brillant sur deux motifs de Pierre et Paris: Pleyel, 1829?; Catherine [A. Adam] London: Balls

77 Fleuve de Tage, variée pour le piano,10 pages Paris: Meissonnier; à Miss Honves London: R. Cocks; Milan: J. Ricordi, 1829

78 Air suisse varié, no. 2, 11 pages Paris: Meissonnier; London: R. Cocks & Co., 1829 213

op. Title and page count Publisher Dedication (if any) Cost

79 Deux airs variés pour le piano, Thème portugais, Paris: Meissonnier; 11 pages London, R. Cocks & Co., 1829

80 L’élégante & Rondo for pianoforte La valse et Paris: Meissonnier; à son ami Henry 5F rondeau, sur un thème de M. Amédée de London: Lamborn, Jacqmin, harpiste Beauplan, 11 pages 1829 (Plate JM 407)

81 Deux airs variées pour le piano 2. The blue bell - Paris: Meissonnier; or- The blue bells of Scotland London: R. Cocks, 1829; reprint 1842

82 Rondino pour le piano sur un motif du Paris: Meissonnier, Freyschütz [Weber] 1829

83 Capriccietto sur une Mélodie Suisse, “Les London: Cramer & Montagnards Tyroliens” Co; Leipzig: Breitkopf & Härtel

84 Fantasia pour le pianoforte sur l’air “Petit blanc” London: J. B. Cramer, Addison, & Beale

85 Caprice brillant sur La Tyrolienne de Mad. London: J.B. à Miss S. Bray Malibran varié Cramer, Addison, & Beale, 1830; Bonn: N.B. Bibliographie de la France calls “oeuvre Simrock 85” Deux divertissemens 1830 p. 47

86 Fantaisie brillante pour le piano, sur les motifs Paris: J Pleyel et fils à Zimmerman 6F favoris de Fiorella [Auber] aîné; Leipzif: Breitkopf & Härtel

87 Variations brillantes on the favourite Chorus “La London: Goulding & Belle nuit” in Boieldieu’s opera “Les Deux D’Almaine Nuits” Cramer & Beale cat. says “Fantasie brillante, from Auber’s Concert à la cour”

88 Fantaisie brillante pour le piano, sur plusieurs 5F motifs des “Deux nuits” [Boieldieu]

89 Fantaisie dramatique sur la cavatine du Il Pirata 6F [Bellini] (presumed lost)

90 Ballade on Paër’s admired romance “La veuve Paris, C. Hue grecque au berceau de son fils” arrangement London: Paine & Hopkins, 1829

92 Variations brillantes sur un thème de Guillaume Mainz & Anvers: B. Miss Adelaide Thanet Tell [Rossini] Schott

93 Divertissement Paris, Heu 214

op. Title and page count Publisher Dedication (if any) Cost

94 Fantaisie sur “La Dernière pensée de Milan: J. Ricordi déd à Ferd. Hiller Weber” [Reissiger]

95 Fantaisie sur la Brigantine, ballade de Mme. Paris: Pleyel, 1830 Duchambge

96 Air favoris anglais, “Charles, c’est mon ami” Paris: Schlesinger; 5F Mélodies britanniques, no. 1 “Charlie is my London, R. Cocks darling”

97 Air célèbre de Haendel (God Save the King) Paris; Schlesinger, dedicated to Zechariah 5F varié pour le pianoforte, 8 pages 1829; London, R. Buck, Esq., organist of Mélodies britanniques, no. 2 Cocks Norwich Cathedral

98 Air national de Haendel [Rule Britannia], varié Paris: Schlesinger, 5F pour le pianoforte 1829; London: R. Mélodies britanniques, no. 3 Cocks

99 18 nouveaux et petits préludes pour le piano London: R. Cocks aux jeunes demoiselles

100 L’indispensable, Manuel des jeunes pianistes ou Paris: Meissonier; 12F l’étude journalière Milan: J. Ricordi [available from 1829 chez auteur]

101 Rondo giocoso sur le Péage du Châtelain Paris: Schlesinger 5F [Beauplan]

102 Rondeau Brillante on “Vive d’Italie” from Le London: Clementi, Dilettante d’Avignon [Halévy] Collard & Collard, 1830

103 Variations brillantes sur un thème du Dilettante Paris: Schlesinger; déd à Mlle Clémence 5F d’Avignon [Halévy] London: Clementi, Alaux de Bordeaux Collard & Collard, 1830

105 Rondo brillant pour le piano sur motif favori de Paris: Henry Berton, 11 pages Schonenberger; London: Clementi, Collard & Collard, 1830

106 Souvenir de Fra Diavolo [Auber] fantaisie (presumed lost)

107 Galopade (nouvelle) variée pour le piano avec Paris: Journal de introduction et finale, 11 pages Piano

109 Variations militaires pour le piano sur la marche Paris: Meissonnier; parisienne New York: Dubois & Stodart

110 Fantasie brillante pour le piano, sur la Paris: Meissonnier, Marsellaise 1830 215

op. Title and page count Publisher Dedication (if any) Cost

112 Trois bagatelles: La Contredanse, La Tyrolienne, Paris: Lemoine; à Julia Surtees 7F50 La Valse Mainz, Anvers: Schott

113 Six brillant waltzes London: Clementi, Collard & Collard, 1830

114 Les Thernoises, Contredanses variées Paris: Lemoine; déd. à Mlle llise London: R. Cocks Cdenson du Coudray ??

115 12 Valses London: R. Cocks

116 Caprice brillant sur Le Dieu et la Bayadère [Auber] (presumed lost)

117 Rondo-capriccio sur deux motifs de l'opéra La Paris: Schlesinger; Langue musicale [Halevy] or Rondo brillant sur London: Collard & un motif de La Lange musicale Collard

118 Contredanses militaires Paris: Lemoine; London: R. Cocks, 1830

119 Quadrille de voyager, Contredanses variées Paris: Lemoine; dedicated to Mlle. London: R. Cocks Clotilde Maure

120 Rondo brillante sur Barcarolle de Zampa London: Goulding & [Hérold] D’Almaine, 1831

121 Variations brillantes sur ballade de Zampa Paris: Meissonnier, [Hérold] 1831

122 Trois mélodies irlandaises London: R. Cocks dedicated to Miss Bell

123 Trois mélodies écossaises London: R. Cocks Miss Bell 1. My love is like a red red rose 2. O Nanny wilt though gang with me 3. Within a mile of Edinburgh town

124 Rondo sur un motif du “Philtre” [Auber] London: Goulding & d’Almaine

125 “I’ll remember thee!” caprice brillant pour le London: Danneley’s piano

126 Variations on The Styrian Peasants’ Glee, by London: Goulding & Bishop D’Almaine

127 Le Ballet: divertissement pour le pianoforte London: Goulding & D’Almaine, 1833 216

op. Title and page count Publisher Dedication (if any) Cost

128 Souvenirs du “Grand prix ou le voyage à frais Paris: Lemoine, dédiée à Miss Julia 5F communs,” d’Adam, fantaisie pour le piano et 1831; London: Hodgkinson, violin Goulding & D’Almaine, 1833

129 Divertissement pour le piano sur les motifs du Paris: Lemoine, ballet de “L’orgie,” de Carafa 1833

130 Études spéciales pour le piano, faisant suite à Paris: Lemoine, aux élèves à l’Institute l’Indispensable, 51 pages 1832; London: R. de Laure Rouillé Cocks

131 Caprice on Maid of Llanwellyn Paris: Troupenas; dedicated to Miss London: Purday Thistlewayte

133 Les Françaises contredanses London: R. Cocks

134 Les grâces, rondo sur le piano sur un motif italien London: Goulding & D’Almaine

135 Brillante variations sur la Sicilienne de Robert le Paris: Schlesinger; Diable [Meyerbeer] London: n.p.

136 Morceau de concert pour le piano sur “Choeur Paris: Schlesinger; déd a Moscheles des buveurs” de Robert le Diable [Meyerbeer] Berlin: A. Schlesinger; London: Chappell

137 Trios melodies nationales no.3 Yellow hair’d London: R. Cocks laddie

138 Quadrille fantastique London, R. Cocks

139 7e Duo pour piano et violon, menuet et rondo Paris: Lemoine, 7F50 1832

140 Les Plaisirs de la pension , six quadrilles de Paris, Lemoine; contredanses variées pour le piano (listed as op. London: R. Cocks 141 in British press ad)

142 Souvenirs de voyager London: R. Cocks

143 Souvenirs air suédois London: R. Cocks

144 Les petits concerts: recueil de pièces à quatre London: R. Cocks mains pour le pianoforte

145 Deux hymnes sacrés London: R. Cocks, 1833

146 La Labyrinthe, Nouveau quadrille de London, R. Cocks, contredanses brillantes et variées, 23 pages 1833

148 Rondo français London: Goulding & Miss Francis D’Almaine Rounthwayte 217

op. Title and page count Publisher Dedication (if any) Cost

149 Rondo polonaise London: Goulding & Miss Ward D’Almaine, 1833

150 Rondo montagnard London: Goulding & Miss White D’Almaine, 1833

151 Souvenirs du Pré aux Clercs [Hérold], fantaisie Paris: E. Troupenas 12 pages

152 Caprice sur “Je vends des scapulaires” de Paris: Schlesinger, Ludovic [Hérold] 1834; London: R. Cocks

153 Thème national espagnol et Air styrien, variées Paris: Delloye; Leipzig: Breitkopf & Härtel

155 Rondoletto sur un thème du Proscrit Paris: Schlesinger, 1F (Le Pianiste alleged that devalued price was for 1834 revenge, an 1, p. 182)

156 Les six premiers mois de l’étude du pianoforte 1835

157 Études romantiques: Douze nocturnes Paris: 1835; London: R. Cocks

158 Les plaisirs d’hiver: Six waltzes, Three galops, London: R. Cocks ded. to the young ladies at Mrs. Mitchell’s establishment, Brentwood, Essex

163 Trois Rondolettos

220 Clé des modulations 1843 son ami Moscheles

* Publishers are not complete, and the data given reflect known publishers only. In cases where publishing information contradicts one another, I have privileged the earlier reference as pieces were often sold between publishers. I have also found at least 30 works without opus, but sometimes it is difficult to distinguish between works by Charles Chaulieu and his son, Charles Chaulieu fils, lacking opus number. Therefore those have been omitted. 218

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